/ 


O^p^r 


AMONG  THE  PINES 


UNIFORM  WITH  THIS  VOLUME, 

And    by    the    same    Author, 

"MY    SOUTHERN   FRIENDS" 

Just  Published. 

— O — 

CLOTH  $1.00.— PAPEE  75  0T8. 


AMONG 


THE     PII^ES 


OR  SOUTH  IN  SECESSION-TIME. 


BY 


EDMUND  KIKKE, 

AUTHOR    OF    "my    SOUTHERN    FRIENDS." 


{Fortieth  TTiousand.) 


NEW  YORK: 

CARLETON,  PUBLISHER,  413  BROADWAY. 


M.DCCC.LXin. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  tlie  year  1S62,  by 

J.  E.  GILMOEE, 

In  the  Clerk's  OfSce  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  Distxict  of  New  York. 


E.    CKAIGHEAD, 

Printer,  Slereoiyper,  and  Elecurotyper, 

fiCaiton  iJuiltJing, 

8JL,  83,  and  So  Centre  :iireet. 


TO 


RICHARD   B.   KIMBALL, 


THE   ACOOMPLISHED    ATJTUOE,   TBK     POLISHKD    GBNTLEMAN, 


AND 


MY  OLD  AND  EYER-YALUED  FHIEND, 


THESE    SESTOnES    ASE    DEDICATED 


B7  TBB 


AUTHOS. 


CONTENTS. 


Paob 

CHAPTER  I.— On  the  Road. — Arrival  at  Georgetown. — The 
Yillage  Inn. — Nocturnal  Adventures. — My  African  Driver. — 
His  Strange  History. — Grenuine  Negro  Songs. — Arrival  at 
BucksviUe 10 

CHAPTER  II. — ^Wayside  Hospitality. — A  Strange  Meeting. 
— A  TVell  Ordered  Plantation. — A  Thunder-storm. — A  New- 
Guest. — The  Hidden  Springs  of  Secession  Exposed. — On  the 
Way  Again. — Intelligence  of  the  Negro. — Renconter  with  a 
Secessionist 30 

CHAPTER  in.— Crossing  the  Runs.  — The  Black  Declines 
His  Freedom. — His  Reasons  for  so  Doing. — A  "  native  "  Abo- 
ntionist. — Swimming  the  Run. — Black  Spirits  and  White. — 
Shelter 55 

CHAPTER  lY.— Poor  Whites.— The  MiUs  House.— South  Car- 
olina Clay-Eaters. — Political  Discussion. — President  Lincoln  a 
Negro. — "  Three  in  a  Bed  and  one  m  the  Middle." — $250  re- 
ward.— A  Secret  League 68 

CHAPTER  Y.— On  the  Plantation.— The  Planter's  DweUing. 
— His  House-Keeper. — The  Process  of  Turpentine  Making. 
— Loss  to  Carohna  by  Secession. — The  Dying  Boy, — The  Story 
of  Jim. — A  Northern  Man  with  Southern  Principles. — Sam 
Murdered. — Pursuit  of  the  Overseer 94 

CHAPTER  YL— The  Planter's  Family.- The  old  Nurse.— 
Her  Story. — A  White  Slave-Woman's  Opinion  of  Slavery. — 
The  Stables. — The  Negro- Quarters. — Sunday  Exercises. — The 
TaMng  of  Moye 12 1 

CHAPTER  YH.- Plantation  Discipline.— The  "  Ole  Cabin." 
— The  Mode  of  Negro  Punishment. — The  "  Thumb-Screw."—^ 
A  Llinistering  AngeL — A  Negro  Trial. — A  Rebellion. — ^A  Tur- 
pentine Dealer. — A  Boston  Dray  on  its  Travels 160 

CHAPTER  Yin.— The  Negro  Hunter.— Young  Democrats.— 
Political  Discussion. — Startling  Statistics. — A  Freed  Negro...   169 


8  CONTENTS. 

FAGB 

CHAPTER  IX. — The  Country  Church.  —  Its  Descrip'iion. — 
The  "  Com-Cracker." — The  News. — Strange  Disclosure 180 

CHAPTER  X. — The  Negro  Funeral,— The  Burial  Ground.— 
A  Negro  Secmon. — The  Appearance  of  Juley. — The  Colonel's 
Heartlessness. — The  Octoroon's  Explanation  of  it. — The  Es- 
cape of  Moye 196 

CHAPTER  XI.— The  Pursuit.— The  Start.—"  Carolina  Race- 
Horses." — A  Race. — ^We  Lose  the  Trail.  —A  Tornado. — A 
Narrow  Escape. — 20'? 

CHAPTER  XII. — The  Yankee  Schoolmistress.  —  Our  New 
Apparel. — "  Kissing  Goes  by  Favor." — Schools  at  the  South...  222 

CHAPTER  XIIL— The  Railway  Station.— The  Tillage.— A 
Drunken  Yankee. — A  Narrow  Escape.  —  Andy  Jones. — A 
Light- Wood  Fire. — The  Colonel's  Departiu-e 22t 

CHAPTER  XI Y.— The  Barbacue.— The  Camp-Ground.— The 
Stump-Speaker. — A  Stump  Speech. — Almost  a  Fight. — The 
Manner  of  Roasting  the  Ox 239 

CHAPTER  XV.— The  Return.— Arrival  at  the  Plantation.— 
Disappearance  of  Juley  and  her  child. — The  Old  Preacher's 
Story. — Scene  Between  the  Master  and  the  Slave 253 

CHAPTER  XYI.  — "One  More  Unfortunate."— Attempted 
Whipping  of  Jim.  —  Appearance  of  the  "  Corn-Cracker."  — 
"  Drowned.— Drowned." 260 

CHAPTER  XYH.- The  Small  Planter.— His  House.— His 
Wife.  —  His  Negroes.  —  A  Juvenile  Darky.  —  Lazarus  in 
"  Ab'ram's  Buzzum." — White  and  Black  Labor  Compared. — 
The  Mysteries  of  "  Rosum  "  manufacture 2'7'7 

CHAPTER  XVni.— The  Burial  op  Jule.— "  He  Tempers  the 
Wind  to  the  Shorn  Lamb."— The  Funeral 295 

CHAPTER  XIX.  —  Homeward  Bound.  —  Colonel  A 

Again. — Parting  with  Scipio. — Why  this  Book  was  Written.  298 

CHAPTER  XX. — Conclusion. — The  Author's  Explanations. — 
Last  News  from  Moye  and  Scipio. — Aflfecting  Letter  from 
Andy  Jones. — The  End 308 


AMONG    THE    PINES. 


CHAPTER  I. 


ON     THE      ROAD. 


Some  winters  ago  I  passed  several  weeks  at  Tallahas- 
see, Florida,  and  while  there  made  the  acquaintance  of 

Colonel  J ,  a   South  Carolina  planter.     Accident, 

some  little  time  later,  threw  us  together  again  at  Charles- 
ton, when  I  was  gratified  to  learn  that  he  would  be  my 
corapagnon  du  voyage  as  far  north  as  i^ew  York. 

He  was  accoinpanied  by  his  body-servant,  "  Jim,"  a 
fine  specimen  of  the  genus  darky,  about  thirty  years  of 
age,  and  born  and  reared  in  his  master's  family.  As 
far  as  possible  we  made  the  journey  by  day,  stopping 
at  some  convenient  resting-place  by  ni^ht ;  on  which 
occasions  the  Colonel,  Jim,  and  myself  would  occupy 
the  same  or  adjoming  apartments,  "we  white  folks'* 
sleeping  on  four  posts,  while  the  more  democratic  negro 

spread  his  blanket  on  the  floor.     Thrown  together  thus 
1* 


10  A^IONG   TIIE   PINES. 

intimately,  it  was  but  natural  that  we  should  learn  much 
of  each  other. 

The  "  Colonel"  was  a  highly  cultivated  and  intelligent 
gentleman,  and  during  this  journey  a  friendship  sprung 
up  between  us — afterward  kept  alive  by  a  regular  coi- 
respondence — which  led  him,  with  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter, and  the  man  Jim,  to  my  house  on  his  next  visit  at 
the  North,  one  year  later.  I  then  promised — if  I 
should  ever  again  travel  in  South  Carolina — to  visit 
him  on  his  plantation  in  the  extreme  north-eastern  part 
of  the  state. 

In  December  last,  about  the  time  of  the  passage  of 
the  ordinance  of  secession,  I  had  occasion  to  visit 
Charleston,  and,  previous  to  setting  out,  dispatched  a 
letter  to  the  Colonel  with  the  information  that  I  was 
ready  to  be  led  of  him  "  into  the  wilderness."  On  ar- 
riving at  the  head-quarters  of  secession,  I  found  a 
missive  awaiting  me,  in  which  my  friend  cordially  re- 
newed his  previous  tender  of  hospitahty,  gave  me  par- 
ticular directions  how  to  proceed,  and  stated  that  his 
"  man  Jim"  would  meet  me  with  a  carriao-e  at  GeorQ-e- 
town,  and  convey  me  thence,  seventy  miles,  to  "  the 
plantation." 

Having  performed  the  busmess  which  led  me  to 
Charleston,  I  set  out  for  the  rendezvous  five  days  be- 
fore the  date  fixed  for  the  meetiug,  intending  to  occupy 
the  intervening  time  in  an  exploration  of  the  ancient 
town  and  its  surroundinors. 

The  little   steamer  Xina    (a  cross   between   a   full- 


ON   THE   EOAD.  '     11 

.grown  nautilus  and  a  half-grown  tub),  whicli  a  few 
weeks  later  was  enrolled  as  the  first  man-of-war  of  the 
Confederate  navy,  then  performed  the  carrying  trade 
between  the  two  principal  cities  of  South  Carohna. 
On  her,  together  with  sundry  boxes  and  bales,  and 
certain  human  merchandise,  I  embarked  at  Charleston, 
and  on  a  dehcious  morning,  late  in  December,  landed 
at  Georgetown. 

As  the  embryo  war-steamer  rounded  up  to  the  long, 
low,  rickety  dock,  lumbered  breast-high  with  cotton, 
turpentine,  and  rosin,  not  a  white  face  was  to  be  seen. 
A  few  half-clad,  shiftless-looking  negroes,  lounging  idly 
about,  were  the  only  portion  of  the  population  in  wait- 
ing to  witness  our  landing. 

"Are  all  the  people  dead?"  I  inquired  of  one  of 
them,  thinking  it  strange  that  an  event  so  important 
as  th-e  arrival  of  the  Charleston  packet  should  excite 
no  greater  interest  in  so  quiet  a  town.  "  Xot  dead, 
massa,"  rephed  the  black,  with  a  knowing  chuckle, 
"but  dey'm  gettin'  ready  for  a  fun'ral."  "What  fu- 
neral ?"  I  asked.  "  Why,  dey'm  gwine  to  shoot  all  de 
bobhtion  darkies  at  de  Xorf,  and  hab  a  brack  burying ; 
he !  he !"  and  the  sable  gentleman  expanded  the  open- 
ing in  his  countenance  to  an  enormous  extent,  doubt- 
less at  the  briUiancy  of  his  wit. 

I  asked  him  to  take  my  portmanteau,  and  conduct 
me  to  the  best  hotel.  He  readily  assented,  "  Yas,  yas, 
massa,  I  show  you  whar  de  hig-hicgs  stop ;"  but  at 
once  tm'ning  to  another  darky  standing  near,  he  ac- 


12  AilONG  THE  PINES. 

costed  him  with,  "  Here,  Jim,  you  lazy  nigga,  tote  de 
gemman's  tings." 

"Why  don't  you  take  them  yourself?"  I  asked; 
"  you  will  then  get  all  the  pay."  "  jSTo,  no,  massa ; 
dat  nigga  and  me  in  partenship ;  he  do  de  work,  and 
I  keeps  de  change,"  was  the  grinnmg  reply,  and  it  aOx- 
mirahly  illustrates  a  pecuHarity  I  have  observed  to  be 
universal  with  the  negro.  When  left  to  his  own  di- 
rection, he  invariably  "  goes  into  partenship"  with  some 
one  poorer  than  himself,  and  no  matter  how  trivial  the 
task,  shirks  aU  the  labor  he  can. 

The  silent  darky  and  my  portmanteau  in  the  van, 
and  the  garrulous  old  negro  guarding  my  fiank,  I 
wended  my  way  through  the  principal  street  to  the 
hotel.     On  the  route  I  resinned  the  conversation : 

"  So,  imcle,  you  say  the  people  here  are  getting 
ready  for  a  black  burying  ?" 

"  Tas,  massa,  gwine  to  bury  all  dem  mis'able  free 
niggas  at  de  IsTorf " 

"  Why  ?    What  wiU  you  do  that  for  ?" 

"  Why  for,  massa !  you  ax  why  for  !"  he  exclaimed 
in  surprise. 

"I  don't  know,"  I  rejoined ;  "I'm  a  stranger  here." 

"  Well,  you  see,  massa,  dem  bobhtion  niggas  np  dar 
hab  gone  and  'lected  a  ole  darky,  dey  call  Uncle  Abe ; 
and  Old  Abe  he'se  gwine  to  come  down  Souf,  and  cut 
de  decent  niggas'  troats.  He'll  hab  a  good  time — he 
will !  My  young  massa's  captin  ob  de  sogers,  and  he'll 
Gotch  de  ole  coon,  and  string  him  up  so  high  de  crows 


ON   THE  HOAD.  13 

won't  scent  him  ;  yas,  he  will ;"  and  again  the  old 
darky's  face  opened  till  it  looked  like  the  entrance  to 
the  Mammoth  Cave.  He,  evidently,  had  read  the 
Southern  papers. 

Depositing  my  luggage  at  the  hotel,  which  I  found 
on  a  side  street — a  dilapidated,  unpainted  wooden  build- 
ing, with  a  female  landlord — I  started  out  to  explore 
the  town,  tiU  the  hour  for  dinner.  Retracing  my  steps 
in  the  direction  of  the  steamboat  landing,  I  found  the 
streets  nearly  deserted,  although  it  was  the  hour  when 
the  business  of  the  day  is  usually  transacted.  Soon  I 
discovered  the  cause.  The  militia  of  the  place  were 
out  on  parade.  Preceded  by  a  colored  band,  placing 
national  airs — in  dolefiil  keeping  with  the  occasion — 
and  followed  by  a  motley  collection  of  negroes  of  all 
sexes  and  ages,  the  company  was  entering  the  principal 
thoroughfare.  As  it  passed  me,  I  could  judge  of  the 
prowess  of  the  redoubtable  captain,  who,  according  to 
Pompey,  wiU  hang  the  President  "  so  high  de  crows 
won't  scent  him."  He  was  a  harmless-looking  young 
man,  with  long,  spindle  legs,  admirably  adapted  to  run- 
ning. Though  not  formidable  in  other  respects,  there  was 
a  certain  martial  air  about  an  enormous  sabre  which  hung 
at  his  side,  and  occasionally  got  entangled  in  his  nether 
integuments,  and  a  fiery,  warlike  look  to  the  heavy  tuft 
of  reddish,  hair  which  sprouted  in  bristling  defiance 
fi.*om  his  upper  lip. 

The  company  numbered  about  seventy,  some  with 
uniforms  and  some  without,  and  bearuigr  all   sorts  of 


14:  AMOXG   THE   PINES. 

arms,  from  the  old  flint-lock  musket  to  the  modern  re- 
volving rifle.  They  were,  however,  sturdy  fellows,  and 
looked  as  if  they  might  do  service  at  "  the  imminent 
deadly  breach."  Their  full  ranks  taken  from  a  popula- 
tion of  less  than  five  hundred  whites,  told  unmistakably 
the  intense  war  feeling  of  the  community. 

Georgetown  is  one  of  the  oldest  towns  in  South  Car- 
olina, and  it  has  a  decidedly  finished  appearance.  Xot 
a  single  building,  I  was  informed,  had  been  erected 
there  in  five  years.  Turpentine  is  one  of  the  chief  pro- 
ductions of  the  district ;  yet  the  cost  of  white  lead  and 
chrome  yellow  has  made  paint  a  scarce  commodity,  and 
the  houses,  consequently,  all  wear  a  dingy,  decayed 
look.  Though  situated  on  a  magnificent  bay,  a  little 
below  the  confluence  of  three  noble  rivers,  which  drain 
a  country  of  surpassing  richness,  and  though  the  centre 
of  the  finest  rice-growing  district  in  the  world,  the 
town  is  dead.  Every  thing  about  it  wears  an  air  of 
dilapidation.  The  few  white  men  you  meet  in  its 
streets,  or  see  lounging  lazily  around  its  stores  and 
warehouses,  appear  to  lack  all  purpose  and  energy. 
Long  contact  with  the  negro  seems  to  have  given  them 
hi^  shiftless,  aimless  character. 

The  ordinance  of  secession  passed  the  legislature 
shortly  prior  to  my  arrival,  and,  as  might  be  ex- 
pected, the  poUtical  situation  was  the  all-engrossing 
topic  of  thought  and  conversation.  In  the  estimation 
of  the  whites  a  glorious  future  was  about  to  open  on 
the  little    state.      Whether   she   stood   alone,  or  sup- 


ON   THE   KOAD.  15 

ported  by  the  other  slave  states,  she  would  assume 
a  hio^h  rank  amons:  the  nations  of  the  earth ;  her  cot- 
ton  and  rice  would  draw  trade  and  wealth  from  every 
land,  and  when  she  spoke,  creation  would  tremble.  Such  ^ 
overweening  state  pride  in  such  a  people — shiftless, 
indolent,  and  enervated  as  they  are — strikes  a  stranger 
as  in  the  last  degree  ludicrous ;  but  when  they  tell  you, 
in  the  presence  of  the  black,  whose  strong  brawny  arm 
and  sinewy  frame  show  that  in  him  lies  the  real  strength 
of  the  state,  that  this  great  empke  is  to  be  built  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  slave,  your  smile  of  increduhty  gives 
way  to  an  expression  of  pity,  and  you  are  tempted  to 
ask  if  those  sinewy  machines  may  not  think,  and  some 
day  rise,  and  topple  do^vn  the  mighty  fabric  which  is  to 
be  reai'ed  on  their  backs  ! 

Among  the  "  peculiar  institutions"  of  the  South  are 
its  inns.  I  do  not  refer  to  the  pinchbeck,  imitation  St. 
Nicholas  establishments,  which  flourish  in  the  larger 
cities,  but  to  those  home-made  affairs,  noted  for  hog  and 
hommy,  corn-cake  and  waffles,  which  crop  out  here  and , 
there  in  the  smaller  towns,  the  natural  growth  of  South- 
ern life  and  institutions.  A  model  of  this  class  is  the 
one  at  Georgetown.  Hog,  hominy,  and  corn-cake  for 
breakfast ;  waffles,  hog,  and  hominy  for  dinner ;  and 
hog,  hominy,  and  corn-cake  for  supper — and  such  corn- 
cake,  baked  in  the  ashes  of  the  hearth,  a  plentiful  sup- 
ply of  the  grayish  condiment  still  clinging  to  it ! — is 
its  never-varying  bill  of  fare.  I  endured  this  fare  for 
a  day,  how^  has  ever  since  been  a  mystery  to  me,  but 


16  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

when  night  came  my  experiences  were  indescribable. 
Retiring  early,  to  get  the  rest  needed  to  fit  me  for  a 
long  ride  on  the  morrow,  I  soon  realized  that  "  there 
is  no  rest  for  the  wicked,"  none,  at  least,  for  sinners 
at  the  South.  Scarcely  had  my  head  touched  the  pil- 
low when  I  was  besieged  by  an  army  of  red-coated 
secessionists,  who  set  upon  me  without  mercy.  I  with- 
stood the  assault  manfully,  till  "  bleeding  at  every  pore," 
and  then  slowly  and  sorrowfully  beat  a  retreat.  Ten 
thousand  to  one  is  greater  odds  than  the  gallant  Ander- 
son encountered  at  Sumter.  Yet  I  determined  not  to 
fiully  abandon  the  field.  Placing  three  chairs  in  a  row, 
I  mounted  upon  them,  and  in  that  seemingly  impregna- 
ble position  hurled  defiance  at  the  enemy,  in  the  words 
of  Scott  (shghtly  altered  to  suit  the  occasion)  : 

"  Come  one,  come  all,  these  chairs  shall  fly 
From  their  firm  base  as  soon  as  I." 

My  exultation,  however,  was  of  short  duration.  The 
persistent  foe,  scaling  my  intrenchments,  soon  re- 
turned to  the  assault  with  redoubled  vigor,  and  in 
utter  despair  I  finally  fled.  Groping  my  way  through 
the  hall,  and  out  of  the  street-door,  I  departed.  The 
Sable  Brother — ahas  the  Son  of  Ham — ahas  the  Imasre 
of  God  carved  in  Ebony — ahas  the  Oppressed  Type — 
ahas  the  Contraband — ahas  the  Irrepressible  Nigger — 
ahas  the  Chattel — ahas  the  Darky — alias  the  CuUud 
Pusson — had  informed  me  that  I  should  find  the  Biix 
Bugs  at  that  hotel.     I  had  found  them. 


ON   THE   KOAD.  17 

Staying  longer  in  sncli  a  place  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion, and  I  determined  to  make  my  way  to  the  up- 
country  without  longer  waiting  for  Jim^  With  the 
first  streak  of  day  I  sallied  out  to  find  the  means  of 
locomotion. 

The  ancient  town  boasts  no  public  conveyance,  ex- 
cept a  one-horse  gig  that  carries  the  mail  in  tri-weekly 
trips  to  Charleston.  That  vehicle,  originally  used  by 
some  Xew  England  doctor,  in  the  early  part  of  the 
past  century,  had  but  one  seat,  and  besides,  was  not 
going  the  way  I  intended  to  take,  so  I  was  forced  to 
seek  a  conveyance  at  a  livery-stable.  At  the  only 
livery  estabhshment  in  the  place,  kept  by  a  "  cullud 
pusson,"  who,  though  a  slave,  owns  a  stud  of  horses 
that  might,  among  a  people  more  momngly  inclined, 
yield  a  respectable  income,  I  found  what  I  wanted — a 
light  Newark  buggy,  and  a  spanking  gray.  Provided 
with  these,  and  a  darky  driver,  who  was  to  accompany 
me  to  my  destination,  and  return  alone,  I  started.  A 
trip  of  seventy  miles  is  something  of  an  undertaking  in 
that  region,  and  quite  a  crowd  gathered  around  to  wit- 
ness our  departure,  not  a  soul  of  whom,  I  wiU  wager, 
will  ever  hear  the  rumble  of  a  stage-coach,  or  the  whis- 
tle of  a  steam-car,  in  those  sandy,  deserted  streets. 

We  soon  left  the  village,  and  struck  a  broad  avenue, 
lined  on  either  side  by  fine  old  trees,  and  extending  in  an 
air-line  for  several  miles.  The  road  is  skirted  by  broad 
rice-fields,  and  these  are  dotted  here  and  there  by  large 
antiquated  houses,  and  little  collections  of  negro  huts. 


18  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

It  was  Christmas  week ;  no  hands  were  busy  in  'he 
fields,  and  every  thing  wore  the  aspect  of  Sunday.  We 
had-  ridden  a  few  miles  when  suddenly  the  road  sunk 
into  a  deep,  broad  stream,  called,  as  the  driver  told  me, 
the  Black  River.  K'o  appliance  for  crossing  being  at 
hand,  or  in  sight,  I  was  about  concluding  that  some 
modern  Moses  accommodated  travellers  by  passing  them 
over  its  bed  dry-shod,  when  a  flat-boat  shot  out  from 
the  jungle  on  the  opposite  bank,  and  pulled  toward  us. 
It  was  built  of  two-inch  plank,  and  manned  by  two  in- 
firm darkies,  with  frosted  wool,  who  seemed  to  need  all 
their  strength  to  sit  upright.  In  that  leaky  craft,  kept 
afloat  by  incessant  baling,  we  succeeded,  at  the  end  oi 
an  hour,  in  crossing  the  river.  And  this,  be  it  under 
stood,  is  travelling  in  one  of  the  richest  districts  of  South 
Carolina ! 

We  soon  left  the  region  of  the  rice-fields,  and  plunged 
into  dense  forests  of  the  long-leafed  pine,  where  for  miles 
not  a  house,  or  any  other  evidence  of  himian  occupa 
tion,  is  -to  be  seen.  ISTothing  could  well  be  more  dreary 
than  a  ride  through  such  a  region,  and  to  while  away 
the  tedium  of  the  journey  I  opened  a  conversation  with 
the  driver,  who  up  to  that  time  had  mamtained  a  re- 
spectful silence. 

He  was  a  genuine  native  African,  and  a  most  original 
and  interesting  specimen  of  his  .race.  His  thin,  close- 
cut  lips,  straight  nose  and  European  features  contrasted 
strangely  with  a  skin  of  ebon  blackness,  and  the  quiet, 
simple  dignity  of  his  manner  bet-okened  superior  Intel- 


ON   THE   KOAD.  19 

ligence.  His  story  was  a  strange  one.  "Wlien  a  boy, 
lie  was  with  his  mother,  kidnapped  by  a  hostile  tribe, 
and  sold  to  the  traders  at  Cape  Lopez,  on  the  western 
coast  of  Africa.  There,  in  the  slave-pen,  the  mother 
died,  and  he,  a  child  of  seven  years,  was  sent  in  th 
slave-ship  to  Cuba.  At  Havana,  when  sixteen,  he  at- 
tracted the  notice  of  a  gentleman  residing  in  Charleston, 
who  bought  him  and  took  him  to  "  the  States."  He 
lived  as  house-servant  in  the  family  of  this  gentleman 
till  1855,  when  his  master  died,  leaving  him  a  legacy  to 
a  daughter.  This  lady,  a  kind,  indulgent  mistress,  had 
since  allowed  him  to  "  hire  his  time,"  and  he  then  car- 
ried on  an  "  independent  business,"  as  porter,  and  doer 
of  all  work  around  the  whaiwes  and  streets  of  George- 
town. He  thus  gained  a  comfortable  hving,  besides 
paying  to  his  mistress  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
yearly  for  the  privilege  of  earning  his  own  support. 
In  every  way  he  was  a  remarkable  negro,  and  my  thi'ee 
days'  acquaintance  with  him  banished  from  my  mind  all 
doubt  as  to  the  capacity  of  the  black  for  freedom,  and 
all  question  as  to  the  disposition  of  the  slave  to  strike 
off  his  chains  when  the  favorable  moment  arrives.  From 
him  I  learned  that  the  blacks,  though  pretending  ignor- 
ance, are  fully  acquainted  with  the  questions  at  issue  in 
the  pending  contest.  He  expressed  the  opinion,  that 
war  would  come  in  consequence  of  the  stand  South  Car- 
olina had  taken  ;  and  when  I  said  to  him :  "  But  if  it 
comes  you  will  be  no  better  off.  It  will  end  in  a  com- 
promise, and  leave  vou  where  vou  are."    He  answered  : 


20  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

"  ]^o,  massa,  't  wont  do  dat.  De  Souf  will  fight  hard, 
and  de  Norf  will  get  de  blood  up,  and  come  down  har, 
and  do  'way  wid  de  cause  ob  all  de  trnbble — and  dat 
am  de  nigga." 

"But,"  I  said,  "perhaps  the  South  will  drive  the 
Korth  back ;  as  you  say,  they  will  fight  hard." 

"  Dat  dey  will,  massa,  dey'm  de  fightin'  sort,  but 
dey  can't  whip  de  I>rorf,  'cause  you  see  dey'll  fight  wid 
only  one  hand.  When  dey  fight  de  Korf  wid  de  right 
hand,  dey'll  hev  to  hold  de  nigga  wid  de  lefi?' 

"  But,"  I  rephed,  "  the  blacks  wont  rise ;  most  of 
you  have  kind  masters  and  fiire  well." 

"  Dat's  true,  massa,  but  dat  an't  freedom,  and  de 
black  lub  freedom  as  much  as  de  white.  De  same 
blessed  Lord  made  dem  both,  and  He  made  dem  all 
'like,  'cep  de  skin.  De  blacks  hab  strong  hands,  and 
when  de  day  come  you'U  see  dey  hab  heads,  too  !" 

Much  other  conversation,  showing  him  j)ossessed  of  a 
high  degree  of  intelligence,  passed  between  us.  In  answer 
to  my  question  if  he  had  a  family,  he  said :  "  No,  sar. 
My  blood  shall  neber  be  slaves  !  Ole  massa  flog  me  and 
threaten  to  kill  me  'cause  I  wouldn't  take  to  de  wim- 
min ;  but  I  tole  him  to  kill,  dat  't  would  be  more  his 
loss  dan  mine." 

I  asked  if  the  negroes  generally  felt  as  he  did,  and  he 
told  me  that  many  did  ;  that  nearly  all  would  fight  for 
their  fi-eedom  if  they  had  the  opportimity,  though  some 
preferred  slavery  because  they  were  sure  of  being  cared 
for  when  old  and  infirm,  not  considering  that  if  their 


ON   THE   EOAD.  21 

labor,  while  they  were  strong,  made  their  masters  rich, 
the  same  labor  would  aiFord  them  provision  against  old 
age.  He  told  me  that  there  are  in  the  district  of  George- 
town twenty  thousand  blacks,  and  not  more  than  two 
thousand  whites,  and  "  Suppose,"  he  added,  "  dat  one- 
quarter  ob  dese  niggas  rise — de  rest  keep  still — whar 
den  would  de  white  folks  be  ?" 

"  Of  course,"  I  rephed,  "  they  would  be  taken  at  a 
disadvantage  ;  but  it  would  not  be  long  before  aid  came 
from  Charleston,  and  you  would  be  overpowered." 

"  No,  massa,  de  chivarly,  as  you  call  dem,  would  be 
'way  in  Virginny,  and  'fore  dey  hard  of  it  Massa  Seward 
would  hab  troops  'nough  in  Georgetown  to  chaw  up  de 
hull  state  in  less  dan  no  time." 

"  But  you  have  no  leaders,"  I  said,  "  no  one  to.  direct 
the  movement.  Your  race  is  not  a  match  for  the  white 
in  generalship,  and  without  generals,  whatever  your 
numbers,  you  would  fare  hardly." 

To  this  he  replied,  an  elevated  enthusiasm  hghting  up 
his  face,  "De  Lokd,  massa,  made  generals  ob  Gideon 
and  David,  and  de  brack  man  know  as  much  'bout  war 
as  dey  did ;  p'raps,"  he  added,  with  a  quiet  humor, 
"  de  brack  aint  equal  to  de  white.  I  knows  most  ob  de 
great  ,men,  hke  Washington  and  John  and  James  and 
Paul,  and  dem  ole  fellers  war  white,  but  dar  war  Two 
Sand  (Tousaint  L'Overture),  de  Brack  Douglass,  and 
de  N'igga  Demus  (Nicodemus),  dey  war  brack." 

The  argument  was  unanswerable,  and  I  said  nothing. 
If  the  day  which  sees  the  rising  of  the  Southern  blacks 


22  AMONG   THE   TINES. 

comes  to  this  generation,  that  negro  will  be  among  the 
leaders.  He  sang  to  me  several  of  the  songs  current 
among  the  negroes  of  the  district,  and  though  of  little 
poetic  value,  they  interested  me,  as  indicating  the  feel- 
in  ss  of  the  slaves.  The  blacks  are  a  musical  race,  and 
the  readiness  with  which  many  of  them  improvise  words 
and  melody  is  wonderful ;  but  I  had  met  none  who  pos- 
sessed the  readiness  of  my  new  acquaintance.  Several 
of  the  tunes  he  repeated  several  times,  and  each  time 
with  a  new  accompaniment  of  words.  I  will  try  to 
render  the  sentiment  of  a  few  of  these  songs  into  as 
good  negro  dialect  as  I  am  master  of,  but  I  cannot  hope 
to  repeat  the  precise  words,  or  to  convey  the  indescriba- 
ble humor  and  pathos  which  my  darky  friend  threw  in- 
to them,  and  which  made  our  long,  sohtary  ride  through 
those  dreary  pine-barrens  pass  rapidly  and  pleasantly 
away.  The  first  referred  to  an  old  darky  who  was 
transplanted  from  the  cotton-fields  of  "  ole  Yirginny" 
to  the  rice-swamps  of  Carolina,  and  who  did  not  hke 
the  change,  but  found  consolation  in  the  fact  that  rice  is 
not  grown  on  "  the  other  side  of  Jordan." 

"  Come  listen,  all  you  darkies,  come  listen  to  my  song. 
It  am  about  ole  Massa,  who  use  me  bery  -wrong : 
In  de  cole,  frosty  mornin',  it  an't  so  bery  nice, 
"Wld  de  water  to  de  middle  to  hoe  among  de  rice ; 
When  I  neber  hab  forgotten 
How  I  used  to  hoe  de  cotton, 
»  How  I  used  to  hoe  de  cotton, 

On  de  ole  Yirginny  shore ; 


ON   THE   EOAD.  2 

But  I'll  neber  hoe  de  cotton, 
Ohl  neber  hoe  de  cotton 
Any  more. 

"  If  I  feel  de  drefful  hunger,  he  tink  it  am  a  vice, 
And  he  gib  me  for  mj  dinner  a  little  broken  rice, 
A  Uttle  broken  rice  and  a  bery  Uttle  fat — 
And  he  grumble  Uke  de  debil  if  I  eat  too  much  of  di*t; 
"WTien  I  neber  hab  forgotten,  etc. 

"  He  tore  me  from  my  Dinah  ;  I  touglit  my  heart  would  burst- 
He  made  me  lub  anoder  when  my  lub  was  wid  de  first. 
He  sole  my  picanninnies  becase  he  got  dar  price. 
And  shut  me  in  de  marsh-field  to  hoe  among  de  rice ; 
When  I  neber  had  forgotten,  etc. 

"  And  aU  de  day  I  hoe  dar,  in  aU  de  heat  and  rain, 
And  as  I  hoe  away  dar,  my  heart  go  back  again, 
Back  to  de  httle  cabin  dat  stood  among  de  corn, 
And  to  de  ole  plantation  where  she  and  I  war  born  I 
Oh !  I  wish  I  had  forgotten,  etc. 

*'  Den  Dinah  am  beside  me,  de  chil'ren  on  my  knee, 
And  dough  I  am  a  slave  dar,  it  'pears  to  me  I'm  free, 
TUl  I  wake  up  from  my  dreamiug,  and  wife  and  chil'ren  gone, 
I  hoe  away  and  weep  dar,  and  weep  dar  aU  alone  I 
Oh  1  I  wish  I  had  forgotten,  etc. 

'  But  soon  a  day  am  comin,   a  day  I  long  to  see, 
When  dis  darky  in  de  cole  ground,  foreber  wUl  be  free, 
When  wife  and  chil'ren  wid  me,  I'U  sing  in  Paradise, 
Sow  He,  de  blessed  Jesus,  hab  bought  me  wid  a  price ; 
How  de  Lord  hab  not  forgotten 
How  weU  I  hoed  de  cotton, 
How  weRI  hoed  de  cotton 
On  de  ole  Yirginny  shore ; 


o 


24  AMONG   THE   PESTES. 

Dar  I'll  neber  hoe  de  cotton, 
Oh !  neber  hoe  do  cotton 
Any  more." 

The  politics  of  the  following  are  not  exactly  those  of 
the  rulers  at  Washington,  but  we  all  may  come  to  this 
complexion  at  last : 

"Harkl  darkies,  hark  I  it  am  de  drum 

Dat  calls  ole  Massa  'way  from  hmn, 

"Wid  powdor-pouch  and  loaded  gun, 

To  drive  ole  Abe  from  "Washington ; 
Oh  1  Massa's  gwine  to  "Washington, 
So  olar  de  way  to  "Washington — 
Oh !  wont  dis  darky  hab  sum  fun 
"When  Massa's  gwine  to  "Washington ! 

"  Dis  darky  know  what  Massa  do ; 
He  take  him  long  to  brack  him  shoe. 
To  brack  him  shoe  and  tote  him  gun, 
"When  he  am  'way  to  "Washington. 

Oh  1  Massa's  gwine  to  "Washington, 

So  clar  de  way  to  "Washington, 

Oh  I  long  afore  de  mornin'  sun 

Ole  Massa's  gwine  to  "Washington ! 

"  Ole  Massa  say  ole  Abe  will  eat 
De  niggas  all  excep'  de  feet — 
De  feet,  may  be,  will  cut  and  run, 
When  Massa  gets  to  "Washington, 

"When  Massa  gets  to  "Washington ; 

So  clar  de  way  to  Washington — 

Oh  I  wont  dis  darky  cut  and  run 

"When  Massa  gets  to  "Washington  I 


ON  THE   T.OAI).  25 

"  Dis  nigga  know  ole  Abe  will  save 
His  b  rudder  man,  de  darky  slare, 
And  dat  he'll  let  him  cut  and  run 
When  Massa  gets  to  TVashington, 

Wlien  Massa  gets  to  Wasliington  ; 

So  clar  de  way  to  TTashington, 

Ole  Abe  will  let  the  darkies  run 

"When  Massa  gets  to  Washington." 

The  next  is  in  a  similar  vein : 

"  A  storm  am  brewin'  in  de  Souf, 

A  storm  am  brewin'  now, 
Oh  !  hearken  den  and  shut  your  mout 

And  I  will  tell  you  how : 
And  I  will  tell  you  how,  ole  boy, 

De  storm  of  fire  will  pour, 
And  make  de  darkies  dance  for  joy, 

As  dey  neber  danced    afore : 
So  shut  your  mouf  as  close  as  deafh, 
And  all  you  niggas  hole  your  breafh. 

And  I  will  tell  you  how. 

"  De  darkies  at  de  Xorf  am  ris. 

And  dey  am  comin'  down — 
Am  comin'  down,  I  know  dey  is, 

To  do  de  white  folks  brown  1 
Dey'U  turn  ole  Massa  out  to  grass, 

And  set  de  niggas  free, 
And  when  dat  day  am  come  to  pass 

"We'll  all  be  dar  to  see  I 
So  shut  your  mouf  as  close  as  death, 
And  all  you  niggas  hole  your  breafh, 

And  do  de  white  folks  brown  1 


26  AMONG   THE    PINES. 

"  Den  all  de  week  will  be  as  gay 

As  am  de  Chris'mas  time ; 
We'll  dance  all  night  and  all  de  day, 

And  make  de  banjo  chime — 
And  make  de  banjo  chime,  I  tink, 

And  pass  de  time  away, 
Wid  'nuf  to  eat  and  'nuf  to  drink, 

And  not  a  bit  to  pay  I 
So  shut  your  mouf  as  close  as  deafli, 
And  all  you  niggas  hole  your  breaf, 

And  make  de  banjo  chime. 

"  Oh !  make  de  banjo  chime,  you  nigs, 

And  sound  de  tamborin, 
And  shuffle  now  de  merry  jigs, 

For  Massa's  '  gwine  in' — 
For  Massa's  'gwine  in,'  I  know, 

And  won't  he  hab  de  shakes, 
Wlien  Yankee  darkies  show  him  how 

Dey  cotch  de  rattle-snakes  !* 
So  shut  your  mouf  as  close  as  deafli, 
And  all  you  niggas  hole  your  breaf. 

For  Massa's  '  gwine  in' — 
For  Massa's  '  gwine  in,'  I  know, 

And  won't  he  hab  de  shakes 
"When  Yankee  darkies  show  him  how 

Dey  cotch  de  rattle-snakes  1" 

The  reader  must  not  conclude  tliat  my  darky  acquaint- 
ance is  an  average  specimen  of  his  class.  Far  from  it. 
Such  instances  of  intelligence  are  very  rare,  and  are 

♦  The  emblem  of  South  Carolina. 


ON    THE    EOAD.  27 

t 

never  found  except  in  the  cities.  There,  constant  inter- 
course with  the  white  renders  the  bliick  shrewd  and  in- 
telligent, but  on  the  phmtations,  the  case  is  different. 
And  besides,  my  musical  friend,  as  I  have  said,  is  a 
native  African.  Fifteen  years  of  observation  have  con- 
vinced me  that  the  imported  negro,  after  being  brought 
in  contact  with  the  white,  is  far  more  intelligent  than 
the  ordinary  Southern-born  black.  Slavery  cramps  the 
intellect  and  dwarfs  the  nature  of  a  man,  and  where 
the  dwarfing  process  has  gone  on,  in  father  and  son, 
for  two  centuries,  it  must  surely  be  the  case — as  surely 
as  that  the  qualities  of  the  parent  are  transmitted  to  the 
child — that  the  later  generations  are  below  the  first. 
This  deterioration  in  the  better  nature  of  the  slave  is 
the  saddest  result  of  slavery.  His  moral  and  intel- 
lectual degradation,  winch  is  essential  to  its  very 
existence,  constitutes  the  true  argument  against  it. 
It  feeds  the  body  but  starves  the  souL  It  blinds 
the  reason,  and  shuts  the  mind  to  truth.  It  degrades 
and  brutalizes  the  whole  being,  and  does  it  pur- 
posely. In  that  lies  its  strength,  and  in  that,  too, 
lurks  the  weakness  which  will  one  day.  topple  it 
down  with  a  crash  that  will  shake  the  Continent. 
Let  us  hope  the  direful  upheaving,  w^hich  is  now  felt 
throughout  the  Union,  is  the  earthquake  that  will  bury 
it  forever. 

The  sun  was  wheelmg  below  the  trees  which  skirted 
the  western  horizon,  when  w^e  halted  in  the  main  road, 
abreast  of  one  of  those  by-paths,  which  every  traveller 


28  AMONG   THE   PJXES. 

at  the  Soutli  recognizes  as  leading  to  a  planter's  honse 
Turning  our  horse's  head,  we  pursued  this  path  for  a 
short  distance,  when  emerging  from  the  phie-forest,  over 
whose  sandy  barrens  we  had  ridden  all  the  day,  a  broad 
plantation  lay  spread  out  before  us.  On  one  side  was 
a  row  of  perhaps  forty  small  but  neat  cabms ;  and  on 
the  other,  at  the  distance  of  about  a  third  of  a  mile,  a 
huge  building,  which,  from  the  piles  of  timber  near  it,  I 
saw  w^as  a  lumber-mill.  Before  us  was  a  sm^ooth  cause- 
way, extending  on  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  and  shaded 
by  large  live-oaks  and  pines,  whose  moss  fell  in  graceful 
drapery  from  the  gnarled  branches.  This  led  to  the 
mansion  of  the  projDrietor,  a  large,  antique  structure,  ex- 
hibiting the  dingy  appearance  which  all  houses  near  the 
lowlands  of  the  South  derive  from  the  chmate,  but  with 
a  generous,  hospitable  air  about  its  wide  doors  and  bulky 
windows,  that  seemed  to  invite  the  traveller  to  the  rest 
and  shelter  within.  I  had  stopped  my  horse,  and  was 
absorbed  m  contemplation  of  a  scene  as  beautiful  as  it 
was  new  to  me,  when  an  old  negro  approached,  and 
touching  his  hat,  said :  "  Massa  send  his  complimens  to 
de  gemman,  and  happy  to  hab  him  pass  de  night  at 
Bucks^nlle." 

"Bucksvz7/e.''"  I  exclaimed,  "and  where  is  the  viHao-e?" 
"  Dis  am  it,  massa ;  and  it  am  eight  mile  and  a  hard 
road  to  de  'Boro"  (meaning  ConAvayboro,  a  one-horse 
village  at  Avhich  I  had  designed  to  spend  the  night). 
"Will  de  gemman  please  ride  up  to  de  piaZza?"  con- 
tinued the  old  neo^ro. 


ON    THE   EOAD. 


29 


"  Yes,  uncle,  and  thank  you,"  and  in  a  moment  I  had 
received  the  cordial  Tvelcomxe  of  the  host,  an  elderly 
gentleman,  whose  easy  and  pohshed  manners  reminded 
me  of  the  times  of  o  ir  grandfathers  in  glorious  Xew 
England.  A  few  minutes  put  me  on  a  footing  of  friend- 
ly familiarity  with  him  and  his  family,  and  I  soon  foimd 
myself  in  a  circle  of  daughters  and  grandchildren,  and 
as  much  at  home  as  if  I  had  been  a  long-expected  guest. 


30  AMONG   TIIE   PINES. 


CHAPTER  n. 

WAYSIDE     HOSPITALITY.  ^ 

Tears  ago — how  many  it  would  not  interest  the 
reader  to  know,  and  might  embarrass  me  to  mention — 
accompanied  by  a  yomig  Avoman — a  blue-eyed,  golden- 
haired  daughter  of  Xew-England — I  set  out  on  a  long 
journey;  a  journey  so  long  that  it  will  not  end  till  one 
or  the  other  of  us  has  laid  off  forever  the  habilunents 
of  travel. 

One  of  the  first  stations  on  our  route  was — Paris. 
While  there,  strolling  out  one  morning  alone,  accident 
directed  my  steps  to  the  Arc  d'JEJtoile,  that  magnificent 
memorial  of  the  greatness  of  a  great  man.  Ascending 
its  gloomy  staircase  to  the  roof,  I  seated  myself,  to  en- 
joy the  fine  view  it  affords  of  the  city  and  its  environs. 

I  was  shortly  joined  by  a  lady  and  gentleman,  whose 
appearance  indicated  that  they  were  Americans.  Some 
casual  remark  led  us  into  a  conversation,  and  soon,  to 
our  mutual  surprise  and  gratification,  we  learned  that 
the  lady  was  a  dear  and  long-time  friend  of  my  travel- 
ling-companion. The  acquaintance  thus  begun,  has 
since  grown  into  a  close  and  abiding  friendship. 

The  reader,  with  this  preamble,  can  readily  imagine 
my  pleasure  on  learning,  as  we  were  seated  after  our 
evening  meal,  around  that  pleasant  fiieside  in  far-off 


WATSIDE   HOSPITALITY.  31 

Carolina,  that  my  Paris  acquaintance  was  a  favorite 
niece,  or,  as  lie  warmly  expressed  it,  "  almost  a  daugh- 
ter" of  my  host.  This  discovery  dispelled  any  lingering 
feelino;  of  "  strano;eness"  that  had  not  vanished  with  the 
first  cordial  greeting  of  my  new-found  friends,  and  made 
me  perfectly  "  at  home." 

The  evening  wore  rapidly  away  in  a  free  interchange 
of  "  news,"  opinions,  and  "  small-talk,"  and  I  soon  gath- 
ered somewhat  of  the  history  of  my  host.  He  was  born 
at  the  North,  and  his  career  affords  a  striking  illustra- 
tion of  the  marvellous  enterprise  of  our  Xorthern  char- 
acter.  A  native  of  the  State  of  Mame,  he  emigrated 
thence  when-'a  young  man,  and  settled  down,  amid 
the  pine-forest  in  that  sequestered  part  of  Cottondom. 
Erecting  a  small  saw-mill,  and  a  log  shanty  to  shelter 
himself  and  a  few  "  hired"  negroes,  he  attacked,  with  his 
ovra  hands,  the  mighty  pines,  whose  brothers  still  tower 
in  gloomy  magnificence  around  his  dwelling. 

From  such  beginnings  he  had  risen  to  be  one  of  the 
wealthiest  land  and  slave  owners  of  his  district,  with 
vessels  trading  to  nearly  every  quarter  of  the  globe, 
to  the  Northern  and  Eastern  ports,  Cadiz,  the  West 
Indies,  South  America,  and  if  I  remember  aright,  Cali- 
fornia. It  seemed  to  me  a  marvel  that  this  man,  alone, 
and  unaided  by  the  usual  appliances  of  commerce,  had 
created  a  business,  rivaUing  in  extent  the  transactions  of 
many  a  princely  merchant  of  New  York  and  Boston. 

His  "  family"  of  slaves  num_bered  about  three  hundred, 
and  a  more  healthy,  and  to  all  appearance,  happy  set  of 


32  AMONG   THE   FINES. 

laboring  people,  I  bad  never  seen.  Well  fed,  comforta- 
bly and  almost  neatly  clad,  witb  tidy  and  well-ordered 
bomes,  exempt  from  labor  in  cbildhood  and  advanced 
age,  and  cared  for  in  sickness  by  a  kind  and  considerate 
mistress,  wbo  is  tbe  pbysician  and  good  Samaritan  of  the 
village,  they  seemed  to  sbare  as  mucb  pbysical  enjoy 
ment  as  ordinarily  falls  to  tbe  lot  of  tbe  "  bewer  of  wood 
and  drawer  of  water."  Looking  at  tbem,  I  began  to 
question  if  Slavery  is,  in  reabty,  tbe  damnable  tbing  tbat 
some  untravelled  pbilantbropists  bave  pictured  it.  If 
— and  in  tbat  "  ?y "  my  good  Abolition  friend,  is  tbe  only 
unanswerable  argument  against  tbe  mstitution — if  tbey 
were  taugbt,  if -tbey  knew  tbeir  nature  and  tbeir  destmy, 
tbe  slaves  of  sucb  an  ov>Tier  migbt  unprofitably  excbange 
situations  witb  many  a  wbite  man,  wbo,  witb  notbing 
in  tbe  present  or  tbe  future,  is  desperately  struggling  for 
a  miserable  band-to-moutb  existence  in  our  Nortbera 
cities.  I  say  "  of  sucb  an  owner,"  for  m  tbe  Soutbern  Ar- 
cadia sucb  masters  are  "  few  and  far  between" — ratber 
fewer  and  fartber  between  tban  "  spots  upon  tbe  sun." 

But  tbey  are  7iot  taugbt.  Pubbc  sentiment,  as  well 
as  State  law,  prevents  tbe  erdigbtened  master,  wbo 
would  fit  tbe  slave  by  knowledge  for  greater  usefulness, 
from  letting  a  ray  of  ligbt  in  upon  bis  darkened  mind. 
Tbe  black  knows  bis  task,  bis  name,  and  bis  dinner-bour. 
He  knows  tbere  is  a  sometbing  witbin  bim — be  does  not 
understand  precisely  wbat — tbat  tbe  wbite  man  calls  bis 
soul,  wbicb  be  is  told  will  not  rest  in  tbe  ground  wben 
bis  body  is  laid  away  in  tbe  grave,  but  will — if  be  is  a 


WAYSIDE   HOSPITALITY.  33 

^'  good  nigger,"  obeys  his  master,  and  does  the  task 
allotted  him — travel  olF  to  some  unknown  region,  and 
sing  hallelujahs  to  the  Lord,  forever.  He  rather  sensi- 
bly imagines  that  such  everlasting  singing  may  in  time 
produce  hoarseness,  so  he  prepares  his  vocal  organs  for 
the  long  concert  by  a  vigorous  disciphne  while  here,  and 
at  the  same  time  cultivates,  instrumental  music,  having 
a  dim  idea  that  the  Lokd  has  an  ear  for  melody,  and 
will  let  him,  when  he  is  th'ed  of  singing,  vary  the  exer- 
cise "  wid  de  banjo  and  de  bones."  This  is  all  he  knovv's ; 
and  his  owner,  however  well-disposed  he  may  be,  cannot 
teach  him  more.  Noble,  Christian  masters  whom  I  have 
met — have  told  me  that  they  did  not  dare  instruct  their 
slaves.  Some  of  their  negroes  were  born  in  then*  houses, 
nursed  in  their  families^,  and  have  grown  up  the  play- 
mates of  their  children,  and  yet  they  are  forced  to  see 
them  live  and  die  like  the  brutes.  One  need  not  be  ac- 
cused of  fanatical  abohtionism  if  he  deems  such  a  svs- 
tern  a  little  in  conflict  with  the  spirit  of  the  nineteenth 
century ! 

The  sun  had  scarcely  turned  his  back  upon  the  world, 
w^hen  a  few  drops  of  rain,  sounding  on  the  piazza-roof 
over  our  heads,  announced  a  coming  storm.  Soon  it 
burst  upon  us  in  magnificent  fury — a  real,  old-fashioned 
thunderstorm,  such  as  I  used  to  he  awake  and  hsten  to 
when  a  boy,  wondering  all  the  while  if  the  angels  were 
keeping  a  Fourth  of  July  in  heaven.  In  the  mid^'t  of  it, 
when  the  earth  and  the  sky  appeared  to  have  met  in 
true  "Waterloo  fashion,  and  the  dark   branches  of  the 


84  AMONG   THE   PIXES. 

I^ines  seemed  writliing  and  tossing  in  a  sea  of  flame,  a 
loud  knock  came  at  the  hall-door  (bells  are  not  the 
fashion  m  Dixie),  and  a  servant  soon  ushered  into  the 
room  a  middle-aged,  unassummg  gentleman,  whom 
my  host  received  with  a  respect  and  cordiality  which 
indicated  that  he  was  no  ordinary  guest.  There  was  m 
his  appearance  and  manner  that  indefinable  something 
which  denotes  the  man  of  mark  ;  but  my  curiosity  was 
soon  gratified  by  an  introduction.  It  was  "  Colonel" 
A .  This  title,  I  afterward  learned,  was  merely  hon- 
orary :  and  I  may  as  well  remark  here,  that  nearly  every 
one  at  the  South  who  has  risen  to  the  ownership  of  a 
negro,  is  eithe  a  captain,  a  maior,  or  a  colonel,  or,  as 
my  ebony  driver  expressed  it :  "  Dey  'm  all  captins  and 
mates,  wid  none  to  row  de  boat  but  de  darkies."  On 
hearmo'  the  name,  I  reco«:nized  it  as  that  of  one  of  the 
oldest  and  most  aristocratic  South  Carohna  families,  and 
the  new  guest  as  a  near  relative  to  the  gentleman  who 
married  the  beautifal  and  ill-fated  Theodosia  Burr. 

In  answer  to  an  inquiry  of  my  host,  the  new-comer 
explained  that  he  had  left  Colonel  J 's  (the  planta- 
tion toward  which  I  was  journeying),  shortly  before 
noon,  and  being  overtaken  by  the  storm  after  leaving 
Conwayboro,  had,  at  the  solicitation  of  his  "  boys"  (a 
familiar  term  for  slaves),  w^ho  were  afraid  to  proceed, 
called  to  ask  shelter  for  the  night. 

Shortly  after  his  entrance,  the  lady  members  of  the  fam- 
ily retired  ;  and  then  the  "  Colonel,"  the  "  Captain,"  and 

« 

mvself,  drawins:  our  chairs  near  the  fire,  and  each  lio^ht- 


"WAYSIDE    HOSPITALITY.  35 

ing  a  fragrant  Havana,  placed  on  the  table  by  our  host, 
fell  into  a  long  conversation,  of  which  the  following  was 
a  part':  , 

"It  must  have  been  urgent  business,  Colonel,  that 
took  you  so  far  into  the  woods  at  this  season,"  remarked 
our  host. 

"These  are  urgent  times,   Captain  B ,"  rephed 

the  guest.  "  All  who  have  any  thing  at  stake,  should  be 
doing!''' 

"  These  are  unhappy  times,  truly,"  said  my  friend ; 
"  has  any  thing  new  occm-red  ?" 

"  Xothing  of  moment,  sir ;  but  we  are  satisfied  Bu- 
chanan is  playing  us  false,  and  are  preparing  for  the 
worst." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  know  that  a  President  of  the 
United  States  had  resorted  to  underhand  measures  I 
Has  he  really  given  you  pledges  ?" 

"  He  promised  to  preserve  the  statu  quo  in  Charles- 
ton harbor,  and  we  have  direct  information  that  ]ie  in 
tends   to   send   out   reinforcements,"   rejoined  Colonel 
A . 

"  Can  that  be  true  ?  You  know.  Colonel,  I  never  ad- 
mired your  friend,  ]Mr.  Buchanan,  but  I  cannot  see 
how,  if  he  does  his  duty,  he  can  avoid  enforcing  the 
laws  in  Charleston,  as  well  as  in  the  other  cities  of  the 
Union." 

"  The  '  Union,'  sir,  does  not  exist.  Buchanan  has  now 
no  more  right  to  quarter  a  soldier  in  South  Carolina  than 
I  have  to  march  an  armed  force  on  to  Boston  Common. 


S6  A3I0NG   THE   FIXES. 

If  lie   persists  in   keeping  troops  near  Charleston,  T\"e 
shall  dislodge  them." 

"  But  that  would  make  war  I  and  war,  Colonel,"  re- 
plied our  host,  "  would  be  a  terrible  thing.  Do  you  re- 
ahze  what  it  would  bring  upon  us  ?  And  what  could 
our  little  State  do  in  a  conilict  with  nearly  thirty  mil- 
hons  ?" 

"  "We  should  not  fight  with  thirty  millions.  The 
other  Cotton  States  are  with  us,  and  the  leaders  in  the 
Border  States  are  pledged  to  Secession.  Tiiey  will 
wheel  into  line  when  we  give  the  word.  But  the  Is'orth 
will  not  fight.  The  Democratic  party  sympathizes 
with  us,  and  some  of  its  infiuential  leaders  are  pledged 
to  our  side.  They  will  sow  division  tliere,  and  paralyze 
the  Free  States  ;  besides,  the  trading  and  manufacturing 
classes  will  never  consent  to  a  war  that  will  work  their 
ruin.     "With  the  Yankees,  sir,  the  dollar  is  almighty." 

.  "  That  may  be  true,"  replied  our  host ;  "  but  I  think 
if  we  go  too  far,  they  will  fight.     What  think  you,  Mr. 

K ?"  he  continued,  appealing  to  me,  and  adding : 

"  This  gentleman,  Colonel,  is  very  recently  from  the 

iS^orth." 

.    Up  to  that  moment,  I  had  avoided  taking  part  in  the 

conversation.     Enough  had  been  said  to  satisfy  me  that 

while  my  host  was  a  staunch  Unionist,*  his  visitor  was 


*  I  very  much  regret  to  leara,  that  since  my  meeting  with  this  most  excellent 

gentleman,  being  obnoxious  to  the  Secession  leaders  for  his  well-known  Union 
sentiments,  he  has  been  very  onerously  assessed  by  them  for  contributions  for 
carrying  on  the  war.  The  sum  he  has  been  forced  to  pay,  is  stated  as  high  as 
forty  thousand  dollars,  but  that  maybe,  and  I  trust  is,  an  exaggeration.    In  ad- 


WAYSIDE   H0SPITAI.1TT.  37 

not  only  a  rank  Secessionist,  but  one  of  tlie  lenders  of 
the  movement,  and  even  then  preparing  for  desperate 
measures.  Discretion,  therefore,  counselled  silence. 
To  this  direct  appeal,  however,  I  "was  forced  to  reply, 
and  answered :  "  I  think,  sir,  the  Xorth  does  not  yet 
reahze  that  the  South  is  in  earnest.  "vYhen  it  wakes  up 
to  that  fact,  its  course  will  be  decisive." 

"  TVill  the  Yankees  figlit^  sir  ?"  rather  impatiently 
and  imperiously  asked  the  Colonel,  who  evidently 
thought  I  intended  to  avoid  a  du-ect  answer  to  the 
question. 

Rather  nettled  by  his  manner,  I  quickly  responded  : 
"  Undoubtedly  they  will,  sir.  They  have  fought  before, 
and  it  would  not  be  wise  to  count  them  cowards." 

A  true  gentleman,  he  at  once  sav>^  that  his  manner 
had  given  ofience,  and  instantly  moderating  his  tone, 
rather  apologetically  replied :  "  Not  cov/ards,  sir,  but 
too  much  absorbed  in  the  '  occupations  of  peace,'  to  go 
to  war  for  an  idea." 

"But  what  you  call  an  'idea,'"  said  our  host,  '-'•they 
may  think  a  great  fact  on  which  their  existence  depends. 
J"  can  see  that  we  will  lose  vastly  by  even  a  peaceful 
separation.     Tell  me.  Colonel,  what  we  will  gain  ?" 

*'  Gain !"  warmly  res^Donded  the  guest.  "  Every  thing ! 
Security,  freedom,  room  for  the  development  of  our  in- 


ditioR — and  this  fact  is  ■within  my  own  knowledge — five  of  his  vessels  Lave  heen 
seized  in  the  Northern  ports  by  our  Government.  This  exposure  of  true  Union 
men  to  a  double  fire,  is  one  of  the  most  unhappy  circumstances  attendant  upon 
this  most  unhappy  war. 


38  AMONG   THE   FIXES. 

stitutions,  and  such  progress  in  wealth  as  the  world  has 
never  seen." 

"All  that  is  very  fine,"  rejoined  the  "  Captain,"  "but 
where  there  is  wealth,  there  must  be  work;  and  who 
will  do  the  work  in  your  new  Empire — I  do  not  mean 
the  agricultural  labor;  you  will  depend  for  that,  of 
course,  on  the  blacks — but  who  will  run  your  manufac- 
tories and  do  your  mechanical  labor?  The  Southern 
gentleman  vv^ould  feel  degraded  by  such  occupation ;  and 
if  you  23ut  the  black  to  any  work  requiring  intelhgence, 
you  must  let  him  think^  and  when  he  thi^^tks,  he  is 
freer 

"  All  that  is  easily  provided  for,"  repUed  the  Secession- 
ist. "  We  shall  form  intimate  relations  with  England. 
She  must  have  our  cotton,  and  we  in  return  will  take 
her  manufactures." 

"  That  would  be  all  very  well  at  present,  and  so  long  as 
you  should  keep  on  good  terms  with  her ;  but  suppose, 
some  fine  morning,  Exeter  Hall  got  control  of  the  Eng- 
Ush  Government,  and  hinted  to  you,  in  John  Bull  fash- 
ion, that  cotton  produced  by  free  labor  would  be  more 
acceptable,  what  could  three,  or  even  eight  millions,  cut 
ofi"  from  the  sjmipathy  and  support  of  the  Xorth,  do  in 
opposition  to  the  power  of  the  British  empire  ?" 

"  Nothing,  perhaps,  if  we  were  three  or  even  eight 
millions,  but  we  shall  be  neither  one  nor  the  other. 
Mexico  and  Cuba  are  ready,  now,  to  fall  into  our  hands, 
and  before  two  years  have  passed,  with  or  without  the 
Border  States,  we  shall  count  twenty  millions.     Long 


WAYSIDE    HOSPITALITY.  39 

before  England  is  abolitionized,  our  population  will  out- 
number hers,  and  our  territory  extend  from  the  Atlantic 
to  the  Pacific,  and  as  far  south  as  the  Isthmus.  We  are 
founding,  sir,  an  empire  that  will  be  able  to  defy  all 
Europe — one  grander  than  the  world  has  seen  since  the 
age  of  Pericles !" 

"  You  say,  with  or  without  the  Border  States,"  re- 
marked our  host.  "  I  thought  you  counted  on  their 
support." 

"  We  do  if  the  Xorth  makes  war  upon  us,  but  if  al- 
lowed to  go  in  peace,  we  can  do  better  without  them. 
They  will  be  a  wall  between  us  and  the  aboHtionized 
Xorth." 

-  "Tou  mistake,"  I  said,  "in  thinking  the  Xorth  is  abo- 
litionized. The  Abohtionists  are  but  a  handful  there. 
The  great  mass  of  our  people  are  willing  the  South 
should  have  undisturbed  control  of  its  domestic  concerns." 

"  Why,  then,  do  you  send  such  men  as  Seward,  Sum- 
ner, Wilson,  and  Grow  to  Congress  ?  Why  have  you 
elected  a  President  who  approves  of  nigger-stealing  ? 
and  why  do  you  tolerate  such  incendiaries  as  Greeley, 
Garrison,  and  Phillips  ?" 

"  Seward,  and  the  others  you  name,"  I  replied,  "  are 
not  Abohtionists  ;  neither  does  Lincoln  approve  of  nig- 
ger-stealing. He  is  an  honest  man,  and  I  doubt  not, 
when  inaugurated,  will  do  exact  justice  by  the  South. 
As  to  incendiaries,  you  find  them  in  both  sections. 
Phillips  and  Garrison  are  only  the  opposite  poles  of 
Yancev  and  Wise." 


r 


40  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

"  Xot  SO,  sir  ;  tliey  are  more.  Phillips,  Greeley,  -and 
Garrison  create  and  control  your  public  opinion.  They 
are  mighty  poY/ers,  while  Yancey  and  Wise  have  no 
influence  whatever.  Yancey  is  a  mere  bag-pipe ;  we 
play  upon  him,  and  like  the  music,  but  smile  when  he 
attempts  to  lead  us.  Wise  is  a  harlequin  ;  we  let  him 
dance  because  he  is  good  at  it,  and  it  amuses  us.  Lin- 
coln may  be  honest,  but  if  made  President  he  will  be 
controlled  by  Seward,  who  hates  the  South.  Seward 
will  whine,  and  wheedle,  and  attempt  to  cajole  us  back, 
but  mark  what  I  say,  sir,  I  know  him  ;  he  is  physically, 
morally,  and  constitutionally  a  nowAUD,  and  will  never 
strike  a  blow  for  the  Uniox.  If  hard  pressed  by  public 
sentiment,  he  may,  to  save  appearances,  bluster  a  little, 
and  make  a  show  of  getting  ready  for  a  fight ;  but  he 
will  find  some  excuse  at  the  last  moment,  and  avoid 
coming  to  blows.  For  our  purposes,  we  had  rather 
have  the  Xorth  undq^'  his  control  than  under  that  of  the 
old  renegade,  Buchanan  !" 

"  Ail  this  may  be  very  true,"  I  rephed,  "  but  perhaps 
you  attach  too  much  weight  to  Avhat  Mr.  Seward  or 
Mr.  Lincoln  may  or  may  not  do.  You  seem  to  forget 
that  there  are  twenty  intelhgent  millions  at  the  North, 
who  will  have  something  to  say  on  this  subject,  and 
who  may  not  consent  to  be  driven  mto  disunion  by  the 
South,  or  wheedled  into  it  by  Mr.  Seward." 

"  I  do  not  forget,"  replied  the  Secessionist,  "  that  you 
have  four  millions  of  brave,  able-bodied  men,  while  we 
have  not,  perhaps,  more  than  two  millions  ;  but  bear  in 


WAYSIDE    HOSPITALITY.  41. 

mind  that  you  are  divided,  and  therefore  weak ;  Ave 
united,  and  therefore  strong  !" 

"  But,"  I  inquired,  "  have  you  two  millions  without 
counting  your  blacks ;  and  are  they  not  as  likely  to 
fis-ht  on  the  wrono-  as  on  the  rio-ht  side  ?" 

"  They  will  fight  on  the  right  side,  sir.  We  can  trust 
them.  You  have  travelled  somevvhat  here.  Have  you 
not  been  struck  with  the  contentment  and  cheerful  sub- 
jection of  the  slaves  ?" 

"  Xo,  sir,  I  have  not  been  !  On  the  contrary,  their 
discontent  is  evident.  You  are  smoking  a  cigar  on.  a 
powder-barrel." 

An  explosion  of  derisive  laughter  fi'om  the  Colonel 
followed  this  remark,  and  turning  to  the  Captain,  he 
good-humoredly  exclaimed :  "  Hasn't  the  gentleman 
used  his  eyes  and  ears  industriously  !" 

•'  I  am  afraid  he  is  more  than  half  rig-ht,"  was  the  re- 
ply.  "  If  this  thing  should  go  on,  I  would  not  trust  my 
own  slaves,  and  I  think  they  are  truly  attached  to  me. 
K  the  fire  once  breaks  out,  the  negroes  will  rush  into  it, 
like  horses  into  a  burninsr  barn." 

"  Think  you  so  !"  exclaimed  the  Colonel  in  an  excited 
manner.  "  By  Heaven,  if  I  believed  it,  I  would  cut  the 
throat  of  every  slave  in  Christendom  !  What,"  address- 
ing me,  "have  you  seen  or  heard,  sir,  that  gives  you 
that  opinion  ?" 

"  Nothings  but  a  sullen  discontent  and  an  eaorerness 
for  news,  which  show  they  feel  intense  interest  in  what 
is  eroincr  on,  and  know  it  concerns  themP 


42  AMONG    THE    I'liSES. 

"I  haven't  remarked  that,"  he  said  rather  musinoTy, 
*'  but  it  may  be  so.  Does  the  ISTorth  believe  it  ?  If  we 
came  to  blows,  would  they  try  to  excite  servile  insur- 
rection among  us  ?" 

"  The  North,  beyond  a  doubt,  believes  it,"  I  replied, 
"  yet  I  think  even  the  Abolitionists  would  aid  you  in 
l^utting  down  an  insurrection  ;  but  war,  in  my  opinion, 
would  not  leave  you  a  slave  between  the  Kio  Grande 
and  the  Potomac." 

The  Colonel  at  this  rose,  remarking :  "  You  are 
mistaken.  You  are  mistaken,  sir  !"  then  turning 
to  our  host,  said :  "  Captain,  it  is  late :  had  we  not 
better  retire  ?"  Bidding  me  "  good-night,"  he  was 
gone. 

Our  host  soon  returned  from  showing  the  guest  to 
his  apartment,  and  with  a  quiet  but  deliberate  manner, 

said  to  me  :  "  You  touched  him,  Mr.  K ,  on  a  point 

where  he  knows  we  are  weakest ;  but  allow  me  to  cau- 
tion you  about  expressing  your  opinions  so  freely.  The 
Colonel  is  a  gentleman,  and  what  you  have  said  will  do 
no  harm,  but,  long  as  I  have  hved  here,  I  dare  not  say 
to  many  what  you  have  said  to  him  to-night." 

Thanking  the  worthy  gentleman  for  the  caution,  I 
followed  him  up  stairs,  and  soon  lost,  in  a  sweet  ob- 
livion, all  thoughts  of  Abolitionists,  niggers,  and  the 
"  grand  empire." 

I  was  awakened  in  the  morning  by  music  under  my 
window,  and  looking  out  discovered  about  a  dozen  dar^i 
kies  gathered  aroimd  my  ebony  driver,  who  was  claw- 


WAYSIDE    HOSPITALITY.  43 

ing  away  with  all  his  might  at  a  dilapidateLcl  banjo, 
while  his  auditory  kept  time  to  his  singing,  by  striking 
the  hand  on  the  knee,  and  by  other  gesticulations  too 
numerous  to  mention.  The  sono-s  were  not  much  to 
boast  of,  but  the  music  was  the  genuine,  dyed-in-the- 
wool,  darky  article.  The  following  was  the  refrain  of 
one  of  the  songs,  which  the  reader  will  perceive  was  an 
exhortation  to  early  rising : 

'*  So  up,  good  massa,  let's  be  gwoin', 
Let's  be  scratchin'  ob  de  grabble ; 
For  soon  de  Tvind  may  be  a  blowin', 
An'  we'  SB  a  sorry  road  to  trabble." 

The  storm  of  the  pre\aous  night  had  ceased,  but  the 
sky  was  overcast,  and  looked  as  if  "  soon  de  wind  might 
be  a-blowin'."  Prudence  counselled  an  early  start,  for, 
doubtless,  the  runs,  or  small  creeks,  had  become  swollen 
by  the  heavy  rain,  and  would  be  unsafe  to  cross  after 
dark.  Besides,  beyond  Conwayboro,  our  route  lay  for 
thirty  miles  through  a  country  without  a  solitary  house 
where  we  could  get  decent  shelter,  were  we  overtaken 
by  a  storm. 

Hm-riedly  performing  my  toilet,  I  descended  to  the 
di'aAving-room,  where  I  found  the  family  assembled. 
After  the  usual  morning  salutations  were  exchanged,  a 
signal  from  the  mistress  caused  the  sounding  of  a  bell 
in  the  hall,  and  some  ten  or  twelve  men  and  women 
house-servants,  of  remarkably  neat  and  tidy  appearance, 
among  whom  was  my  darky  driver,  entered  the  apart- 


44:  A2,lONGc    TKE    PIl^^ES. 

ment.  They  took  a  staud  at  the  remote  end  of  the 
room,  and  our  host,  openmg  a  large,  well-worn  family 
Bible,  read  the  fifty-fourth  chapter  of  Isaiah.  Then, 
all  kneeling,  he  made  a  short  extemporaneous  petition, 
closing  ^v'itli  the  Loed's  Prayer ;  all  present,  black  as 
well  as  white,  joining  in  it.  Then  Heber's  beautiftd 
hymn,  "  From  Greenland's  icy  mountains,?  was  sung ; 
the  negroes,  to  my  ear,  making  much  betfer  music 
than  the  whites. 

The  services  over,  we  adjourned  to  the  dining-room, 
and  after  we  were  seated,  the  "  Colonel"  remarked  to 
me :  "  Did  you  notice  how  finely  that  negro  '  boy'  (he 
was  fully  forty  years  old)  sung  ?" 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  I  did.     Do  you  know  him,  sir  ?" 

"  Oh !  yes,  very  well.  His  mistress  wishes  to  sell 
him,  but  finds  difficulty  in  doing  so.  Though  a  likely 
negro,  people  will  not  buy  him.     He's  too  smart." 

"  That  strikes  me  as  a  singular  objection,"  I  remarked. 

"  Oh !  no,  not  at  all !  These  knowing  niggers  fre- 
quently make  a  world  of  trouble  on  a  plantation." 

It  was  after  ten  o'clock  when  we  were  ready  to 
start.  The  mills,  the  negro-quarters,  and  various  other 
parts  of  the  plantation,  and  then  several  vessels  moored 
at  the  v,"harf,  had  to  be  seen  before  I  could  get  away. 
Finally,  I  bade  my  excellent  host  and  his  family  farewell, 
and  with  nearly  as  much  regret  as  I  ever  felt  at  lea\Tiig 
my  own  home.  I  had  experienced  the  much-heard-of 
Southern  hospitality,  and  had  found  the  report  far  be- 
low the  reality. 


WAYSIDE   HOSPITALITY.  45 

The  other  guest  had  taken  his  leave  some  time  before, 
but  not  till  he  had  given  me  a  cordial  invitation  to  re- 
turn by  the  way  I  came,  and  spend  a  day  or  two  with 
liim,  at  his  plantation  on  the  river,  some  twenty  miles 
below. 

The  sky  was  lowery,  and  the  sandy  road  heavy  with 
the  recent  rain,  when  we  started.  The  gloomy  weather 
seemed  to  have  infected  the  driver  as  well  as  myself. 
He  had  lost  the  mirthfiilness  and  loquacity  of  the  i^ve- 
vious  day,  and  we  rode  on  for  a  fall  hour  in  silence. 
Tiring  at  last  of  my  own  thoughts,  I  said  to  him: 
"  Scip,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  what  makes 
you  so  gloomy  ?" 

"  Xuffin,  massa ;  I  war  only  tinldn',"  he  abstractedly 
repUed. 

"  And  what  are  you  thinking  about  ?" 

"  I's  vv  ond'rin',  massa,  if  de  Lokd  mean  de  darkies  in 
dose  words  of  His  dat  Massa  B read  dis  mornin'." 

"  What  words  do  you  mean  ? 

"  Dese,  massa :  '  O  dou  'fflicted  !  tossed  wid  de  tem- 
pest, and  habin  no  comfort,  behold,  I  will  make  you  hous'n 
ob  de  fair  colors,  and  lay  dar  foundations  wid  safo- 
mires.  All  dy  chil'ren  shill  be  taught  ob  de  Lokd,  and 
great  sliill  be  dar  peace.  In  de  right  sliill  dey  be  'stab- 
lished  ;  dey  shill  hab  no  fear,  no  teiTor  ;  it  shan't  come 
nitrh  'em,  and  who  come  as^ainst  dem  shiR  foil.  Behold ! 
I  hab  make  de  blacksmif  dat  blow  de  coals,  and  make 
de  weapons  ;  and  I  hab  make  de  waster  dat  shill  destroy 
de  oppressors.' 


5   5> 


46  AMONG    THE    PINES. 

If  lie  had  repeated  one  of  Webster's  orations  I  toliould 
not  have  been  more  astonished.  I  did  not  remember 
the  exact  words  of  the  passage,  but  I  knew  he  had 
caught  its  spirit.  Was  this  his  recollection  of  the  read- 
ing heard  in  the  morning  ?  or  had  he  previously  com- 
mitted it  to  memory  ?  These  questions  I  asked  my- 
self; but,  restraining  my  curiosity,  I  answered:  "Un- 
doubtedly they  are  meant  for  both  the  black  and  the 
white." 

"  Do  dey  mean,  massa,  dat  we  shall  be  like  de  wite 
folks — wid  our  own  hous'n,  our  chil'ren  taught  in  de 
schools,  and  wid  weapons  to  strike  back  when  dey 
strike  us  ?" 

"  No,  Scipio,  they  don't  mean  that.  They  refer  prin- 
cipally to  spiritual  matters.  They  were  a  promise  to  all 
the  world  that  when  the  Saviour  came,  all,  even  the 
greatly  oppressed  and  afflicted,  should  hear  the  great 
truths  of  the  Bible  about  God,  Redemption,  and  the 
Future." 

"  But  de  Saviour  hab  come,  massa ;  and  dose  tings 
an't  taught  to  de  black  chil'ren.  We  hab  no  peace,  no 
rights  ;  nuffin  buf  fear,  'pression,  and  terror." 

"  That  is  true,  Scipio.  The  Lord  takes  IIis  own 
time,  but  His  time  will  surely  come." 

"  De  Lord  bless  you,  massa,  for  saying  dat ;  and  de 
Lord  bless  you  for  telling  dat  big  Gunnel,  dat  if  dey 
gwo  to  war  de  brack  man  will  be  Free  I" 

"  Did  you  hear  what  we  said  ?"  I  inquired,  greatly 
surprised,  for  I  remembered  remarking,  during  the  iu- 


WAYSIDE   HOSPITALITY.  47 

tei'view  of  tlie  previous  eveiiiug,  that  our  host  carefully 
kej)t  the  doors  closed. 

"  Ebery  word,  massa." 

"  But  how  could  you  hear  ?  The  doors  and  windows 
were  shut.     Where  were  you  ?" 

"  On  de  piazzer ;  and  Avhen  I  seed  fru  de  winder  dat 
de  ladies  war  gvv'ine,  I  know'd  you'd  talk  'bout  politics 
and  de  darkies — gemmen  allers  do.  So  I  opened  de 
winder  bery  softly — you  didn't  har  'cause  it  rained  and 
blowed  bery  hard,  and  made  a  mighty  noise.  Den  I 
stuffed  my  coat  in  de  crack,  so  de  wind  could'nt  blow  in 
and  lef  you  know  I  wus  da,r,  but  I  lef  a  hole  big  'no ugh 
to  har.  My  ear  froze  to  dat  hole,  massa,  bery  tight,  I 
'sliore  you." 

"  But  you  must  have  got  very  wet  and  very  cold." 

"  Wet,  massa !  wetter  dan  a  'gator  dat's  been  m  de 
riber  all  de  week,  but  I  didn't  keer  for  de  rain  or  de 
cold.     What  I  hard  made  me  warm  all  de  way  fru." 

To  my  mind  there  was  a  rough  picture  of  true  hero- 
ism in  that  poor  darky  standing  for  hours  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves, in  the  cold,  stormy  night,  the  lightning  playing 
about  him,  and  the  rain  drenching  him  to  the  skin — ■ 
that  he  might  hear  something  he  thought  w^ould  benefit 
his  down-trodden  race. 

I  noticed  his  clothing  though  bearing  evident  marks 
of  a  drenching,  was  then  dry,  and  I  inquired:  "How 
did  you  dry  your  clothes  ?" 

"  I  staid  wid  some  ob  cle  cullud  folks,  and  arter  you 
gwoes  up  stars,  I  went  to  dar  cabin,  and  dey  gabe  me 


48  AMONG    THE   PINES. 

some  dry  does.  Yv^e  made  up  a  big  fire,  and  liiing 
mine  up  to  dry,  and  de  ole  man  and  woman  and  me  sot 
up  all  night  and  talked  ober  what  you  and  de  oder  gem- 
men  said." 

"  Will  not  those  folks  tell  what  you  did,  and  thus  get 
you  into  trouble  ?" 

"  Tell !  LoED  bless  you,  massa,  de  hracTcs  am  all  free- 
masons y  dat  ar  ole  man  and  woman  wud  die  'fore  dey'd 
ten." 

"  But  are  not  Captain  B 's  negroes  contented  ?" 

I  asked ;  "  they  seem  to  be  well  treated." 

"  Oh !  yas,  dey  am.  All  de  brack  folks  'bout  har  want 
de  Captin  to  buy  'em.  He  bery  nice  man — one  ob  de 
Lord's  own  people.  He  better  man  dan  David,  'cause 
David  did  wrong,  and  I  don't  b'lieve  de  Captin  eber  did." 

"  I  should  think  he  was  a  very  good  man,"  I  rephed. 

"Bery  good  man,  massa,  but  de  white  folks  don't 
like  him,  'cause  dey  say  he  treats  him  darkies  so  well, 
all  dairn  am  uncontented." 

"  Tell  me,  Scipio,"  I  resumed  after  a  while,  "  how  it  * 
is  you  can  repeat  that  passage  from  Isaiah  so  well  ?" 

"  Why,  bless  you,  massa,  I  know  Aziar  and  Job  and 
de  Psalms  'most  all  by  heart.  Good  many  years  ago, 
when  I  hb'd  in  Charles'on,  the  gub'ness  learned  me  to 
read,  and  I  hab  read  dat  Book  fru  good  many  times." 

"  Have  you  read  any  others  ?"  I  asked. 

"  None  but  dat  and  Doctor  Watts.  I  hab  deyn^  but 
wite  folks  wont  sell  books  to  de  bracks,  and  I  wont 
steal  'em.     I  read  de  papers  sometimes." 


WAYSIDE   HOSPITALITY.  49 

I  opened  my  portmanteau,  that  lay  on  the  floor  of  the 
wagon,  and  handed  him  a  copy  of  Whittier's  poems.  It 
happened  to  be  the  only  book,  excepting  the  Bible, 
that  I  had  with  me. 

"  Read  that,  Scipio,"  I  said.  "  It  is  a  book  of  poetry, 
but  written  by  a  good  man  at  the  I^orth,  who  greatly 
pities  the  slave." 

He  took  the  book,  and  the  big  tears  rolled  doTvm  his 
cheeks,  as  he  said  :  "  Tank  you,  massa,  tank  you.  .No- 
body war  neber  so  good  to  me  afore." 

Durmg  our  conversation,  the  sky,  which  had  looked 
threatening  all  the  morning,  began  to  let  fall  the  big 
drops  of  rain ;  and  before  we  reached  Conwayboro,  it 
poured  down  much  after  the  fashion  of  the  previous 
night.  It  being  cruelty  to  both  man  and  beast  to  re- 
main out  in  such  a  deluge,  we  pulled  up  at  the  village 
hotel  (kept,  like  the  one  at  Georgetown,  by  a  lady), 
and  determined  to  remain  OA^ernight,  unless  the  rain 
should  abate  in  time  to  aUow  us  to  reach  our  destination 
before  dark. 

Dinner  being  ready  soon  after  our  arrival  (the  people 
of  Conwayboro,  hke  the  "common  folks"  that  Davy 
Crockett  told  about,  dine  at  twelve),  I  sat  down  to  it, 
first  hanging  my  outer  garments,  which  were  somewhat 
wet,  before  the  fire  in  the  sitting-room.  The  house 
seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  public  boarding-house,  as  well  as 
hotel,  for  quite  a  number  of  persons,  evidently  town's- 
people  were  at  the  dinner-table.  My  appearance  attract- 
ed some  attention,  though  not  more,  I  thought,  than 
3 


50  AMONG   TEE   PI2TES. 

would  be  naturally  excited  in  so  quiet  a  place  "by  the 
arrival  of  a  stranger ;  but  "  as  nobody  said  nothing  to 
me,  I  said  nothing  to  nobody." 

Dinner  over,  I  adjourned  to  the  "  sitting-room,"  and 
seating  myself  by  the  fire,  watched  the  drying  of  my 
"  outer  habihments."  While  thus  engaged,  the  door 
opened,  and  three  men — whom  I  should  have  taken  for 
South  Carolina  gentlemen,  had  not  a  further  acquaint- 
ance convinced  me  to  the  contrary — entered  the  room. 
Walking  directly  up  to  where  I  was  sitting,  the  fore- 
most one  accosted  me  something  after  this  manner : 

"  I  see  you  are  from  the  North,  sir." 

Taken  a  little  aback  by  the  abruptness  of  the  "salute," 
but  guessing  his  object,  I  answered:  "No,  sir;  lam 
from  the  South." 

"  From  what  part  of  the  South  ?" 

"I  left  Georgetown  yesterday,  and  Charleston  two 
days  before  that,"  I  replied,  endeavoring  to  seem  entirely 
oblivious  to  his  meaning. 

"  We  don't  want  to  know  whar  you  war  yesterday ; 
we  want  to  know  whar  you  helong^''  he  said,  with  a  lit- 
tle impatience. 

"  Oh !  that's  it.  Well,  sir,  I  belong  here  just  at  pres- 
ent, or  rather  I  shall,  when  I  have  paid  the  landlady  for 
my  dinner." 

Annoyed  by  my  coolness,  and  getting  somewhat  ex- 
cited, he  replied  quickly:  "You  mustn't  trifie  with  us, 
611*.  We  know  you.  You're  from  the  North.  We've 
seen  it  on  your  valise,  and  we  can't  allow  a  man  who 


WAYSIDE   nOSPITAI.ITY.  51 

carries  the  Xew  York  Independent  to  travel  in  South 
Caroliua." 

The  scoundrels  had  either  broken  into  my  portman- 
teau, or  else  a  copy  of  that  paper  had  dropped  from  it 
on  to  the  floor  of  the  wagon  when  I  gave  the  book  to 
Scipio.  At  any  rate,  they  had  seen  it,  and  it  was  evident 
*'  Brother  Beecher"  was  getting  me  into  a  scrape.  I 
felt  mdignant  at  the  impudence  of  the  fellow,  but  de- 
termined to  keep  cool,  and,  a  little  sarcastically,  replied 
to  the  latter  part  of  his  remark : 

"  That's  a  pity,  sir.     South  Carolina  will  lose  by  it." 

"  This  game  wont  work,  sir.  TVe  don't  want  such 
people  as  you  har,  and  the  sooner  you  make  tracks  the 
better." 

"  I  intend  to  leave,  sir,  as  soon  as  the  rain  is  over,  and 
shall  travel  thirty  miles  on  your  sandy  roads  to-day,  if 
you  don't  coax  me  to  stay  here  by  your  hospitahty,"  I 
quietly  replied. 

The  last  remark  was  just  the  one  drop  needed  to  make 
his  wrath  "bile  over,"  and  he  savagely  exclaimed :  "  I  tell 
you,  sir,  we  will  not  be  trifled  with.  You  must  be  off 
to  Georgetown  at  once.  You  can  have  just  half  an  hour 
to  leave  the  Boro',  not  a  second  more." 

His  tone  and  manner  aroused  what  little  combative- 
ness  there  is  in  me.  Hismg  from  my  chair,  and  taking 
up  my  outside-coat,  in  which  was  one  of  Colt's  six- 
shooters,  I  said  to  him:  "  Sir,  I  am  here,  a  peaceable  man, 
on  peaceable,  private  business.  I  have  started  to  go  up 
the  country,  and  go  there  I  shall ;  and  I  shall  leave  this 


62  AMOXG    THE    PINES. 

place  at  my  convenience — not  before.  I  have  endured 
your  impertinence  long  enough,  and  shall  have  no  more 
of  it.  If  you  attempt  to  interfere  with  my  movements, 
you  will  do  so  at  your  peril." 

My  blood  was  up,  and  I  was  fast  losing  that  better 
part  of  valor  called  discretion;  and  he  evidently  under- 
stood my  movement,  and  did  not  dishke  the  turn  affairs 
were  taking.  There  is  no  telling  what  might  have  fol- 
lowed had  not  Scip  just  at  that  instant  inserted  his 
woolly  head  between  us,  excitedly  exclaiming :  "  Lord 

bless  you,  Massa  B 11 ;  what  am  you  'bout  ?     Why, 

dis  gemman  am  a  'ticlar  friend  of  Gunnel  A .   Ile'm 

a  reg'lar  sesherner.  He  hates  de  ablisherners  worser 
dan  de  debble.  I  hard  him  swar  a  clar,  blue  streak 
-bout  dem  only  yesterday." 

"  Massa  B ^11"  was  evidently  taken  aback  by  the 

announcement  of  the  nesrro,  but  did  not  seem  inclined 
to  *'  give  it  up  so"  at  once,  for  he  asked :  "  How  do  you 
know  he's  the  Colonel's  friend,  Scip  ?  Who  told  you 
so?" 

"  Who  told  me  so  ?"  exclaimed  the  excited  negro, 

"  why,  didn't  he  stay  at  Captin  B 's,  wid  de  Gunnel, 

all  night  last  night ;  and  didn't  dey  set  up  dar  doin' 
politic  business  togedder  till  arter  midnight  ?  Didn't 
de  Gunnel  come  dar  in  all  de  storm  'pressly  to  see  dis 
gemman  ?" 

The  ready  wit  and  rude  eloquence  of  the  darky  amused 
me,  and  the  idea  of  the  "  Gunnel"  travelUng  twenty  miles 
through  the  terrible  storm  of  the  previous  night  to  meet 


WAYSIDE   HOSPITALITY.  53 

a  man  who  had  the  "Sew  York  Independent  about  him, 
was  so  perfectly  ludicrous,  that  I  could  not  restrain  my 
lauo^hter.      That   lauo-h   did   the  business  for    "Massa 

B 11."      What   the  negro  had  said  staggered,  but 

did  not  convince  him ;  but  my  returning  good-humor 
brought  him  completely  round.  Extending  his  hand  to 
me,  he  said:  "I  see,  sir,  I've  woke  up  the  wrong  pas- 
senger. Hope  you'll  take  no  offence.  In  these  times  we 
need  to  know  who  come  among  us." 

"  No  offence  whatever,  sir,"  I  replied.  "  It  is  easy  to 
be  mistaken ;  but."  I  added  smilingly,  "  I  hope,  for  the 
sake  of  the  next  traveller,  you'll  be  less  precipitate  an- 
other time." 

"  I  am  rather  hasty  ;  that's  a  fact,"  he  said.  "  But 
no  harm  is  done.  So  let's  take  a  drink,  and  say  no  more 
about  it.  The  old  lady  har  keeps  nary  a  thing,  but  we 
can  get  the  racd  stuff  close  by." 

Though  not  a  member  of  a  "  Total  Abstinence  So- 
ciety," I  have  always  avoided  indulging  In  the  quality 
of  fluid  that  is  the  staple  beverage  at  the  South.  I  there- 
fore hesitated  a  moment  before  accepting  the  gentle- 
man's invitation ;  but  the  alternative  seemed  to  be 
squarely  presented,  pistols  or  driaks ;  cold  lead  or  poor 
whiskey,  and — I  am  ashamed  to  confess  it — I  took  the 
whiskey. 

Beturning  to  the  hotel,  I  found  Scip  awaiting  me. 
"Massa,"  he  said,  "we  better  be  gwine.  Dat  dar  sesh- 
erner  am  ugly  as  de  bery  ole  debble ;  and  soon  as  he 


54:  A^IONG    THE    PINES. 

knows  T  cum  de  possum  ober  liim  'bout  de  Cunuel,  lie'll 
be  down  on  you  shore.'''' 

The  rain  had  dwindled  to  a  drizzle,  which  the  sun  was 
vigorously  struggling  to  get  through  with  a  tolerable 
prospect  of  success,  and  I  concluded  to  take  the  African's 
advice.  Wrapping  myself  in  an  India-rubber  overcoat, 
and  giving  the  darky  a  blanket  of  the  same  material,  I 
started. 


CROSSING   THE    '' KUNS.''  55 


CIIAPTEU  III. 

CROSSING    THE    "RUNS," 

The  long,  tumble-down  bridge  wbich  spans  the  Wac- 
camaw  at  Conwiiyboro,  trembled  beneath  our  horse's 
tread,  as  with  lengthened  stride  he  shook  the  secession 
mud  from  his,, feet,  and  whirled  us  along  into  the  dark, 
deep  forest.  It  may  have  been  the  exhilaration  of  a 
hearty  dinner  of  oats,  or  it  may  have  been  sympathy 
with  the  impatience  of  his  fellow-travellers  that  spurred 
him  on ;  whichever  it  was,  away  he  went  as  if  Lucifer — 
that  first  Secessionist — were  following  close  at  his  heels. 

The  sun,  which  for  a  time  had  been  industriously 
wedging  his  way  into  the  dark  masses  of  cloud,  finally 
slunk  out  of  sight  and  left  us  enveloped  in  a  thick  fog, 
which  shut  from  view  all  of  Cottondom,  except  a  nar- 
i'ow  belting  of  rough  pines,  and  a  few  rods  of  sandy 
road  that  stretched  out  in  dim  perspective  before  us'. 
There  beino-  nothings  in  the  outside  creation  to  attract 
my  attention,  I  drew  the  apron  of  the  carriage  about 
me,  and  setthng  myself  well  back  on  the  seat  to  avoid 
the  thick-falling  mist,  fell  into  a  tram  of  dreamy  reflec- 
tion. 

Niggers,  slave-auctions,  cotton-fields,  rice-swamps,  and 
King  Cotton  himself,  that  blustering  old  despot,  with 
his  swarthy  arms  and  "  under-pinning,''  his  face  of  brass, 


56  AINIONG   THE   PIKES. 

and  body  of  "  raw  material,"  passed  tlirougli  my  mind, 
like  Georgia  trains  tlirougli  the  Oconee  Swamp,  till 
finally  my  darky  friend  came  into  view.  He  seemed  at 
first  a  little  child,  amid  the  blazing  ruins  of  his  wilder- 
ness home,  gazing  in  stupid  horror  on  the  burning  bod- 
ies of  his  father  and  his  kindred.  Then  he  was  kneel- 
ing at  the  side  of  his  dying  mother  in  the  slave-pen  at 
Cape  Lopez,  and — still  a  child — cooped  in  the  "  Black- 
hole"  of  the  accursed  slave-ship,  his  Httle  frame  burn- 
ing with  the  fever-fire,  and  his  child-heart  longing  for 
death.  Then  he  seemed  mounting  the  Cuban  slave- 
block,  and  as  the  "going!  going!  gone!"  rung  in  my 
ear,  he  was  hurried  away,  and  driven  to  the  cruel  task — 
still  a  child — on  the  hot,  unhealthy  sugar-field.  Again 
he  appeared,  stealing  away  at  night  to  a  lonely  hut,  and 
by  the  hght  of  a  pine-knot,  wearily  poring  over  the 
Book  of  Books,  slowly  puttmg  letters  into  words,  and 
Avords  into  sentences,  that  he  might  know  "  TFhat  God 
says  to  the  hlacJc  man,''''  Then  he  seemed  a  man — splen- 
did of  frame,  noble  of  soul — suspended  in  the  whipping- 
rack,  his  arms  bound  above  his  head,  his  body  restino- 
on  the  tips  of  his  toes,  and  the  merciless  lash  falling  on 
his  bare  back,  till  the  red  stream  ran  from  it  like  a  river 
— scourpred  because  he  would  not  aid  in  creatino;  beino-s 
as  wretched  as  himself,  and  make  merchandise  of  his 
own  blood  to  gorge  the  pocket  of  an  incarnate  white 
devil. 

As  these  things  passed  before  me,  and  I  thought  of 
Ms  rare  intelligence,  of  his  fine  traits  of  character,  and 


CEOSSIXG   THE    "  EUNS."  57 

of  the  true  heroism  he  had  sho^vn  in  risldng,  perhaps, ' 
his  own  hfe  to  get  me — a  stranger — out  cf  an  ugly  hob- 
ble, I  felt  a  certain  spot  in  my  left  side  warming  toward 
him,  very  much  as  it  might  have  done  had  his  blood 
been  as  pure  as  my  ovrn.  It  seemed  to  me  a  pity — anti- 
AboHtionist  and  Southern-sympathizer  though  I  was — 
that  a  man  of  such  rare  natural  talent,  such  character 
and  energy,  should  have  his  large  nature  dwarfed,  be 
tethered  for  life  to  a  cotton-stalk,  and  made  to  wear  his 
sold  out  in  a  tread-mill,  merely  because  his  skin  had  a 
darker  tino;e  and  his  shoe  a  lono;er  heel  than  mine. 

As  I  mused  over  his  "  strange,  eventful  history,"  and 
thought  of  the  handy  way  natui'e  has  of  putting  the 
riglit  man  in  the  wrong  place,  it  occurred  to  me  how 
"  Brother  Beecher"  one  evening,  not  a  long  time  before, 
had  charmed  the  last  dollar  from  my  waistcoat  pocket 
by  exhibiting,  cl  la  Barnum,  a  remarkably  ugly  "  ciillud 
pusson"  on  his  pulpit  stairs,  and  by  picturing  the  awful 
doom  which  awaited  her — that  of  being  reduced  from 
baby-tending  to  some  less  useful  employment — if  his 
audience  did  not  at  once  "do  the  needful."  Then  it 
occurred  to  me  how  much  finer  a  spectacle  my  ebony 
friend  would  make ;  how  well  his  six  feet  of  manly  sinew 
would  grace  those  pulpit  staii's ;  how  eloquently  the  rev- 
erend gentleman  might  expatiate  on  the  burning  sin  of 
shrouding  the  hsrht  of  such  an  intellect  in  the  mists  of 
niggerdom,  only  to  see  it  snuffed  out  in  darkness ;  how 
he  mio-ht  enlarn-e  on  what  the  black  could  do  in  ele- 
vating  his  race,  either  as  "  cullud"  assistant  to  "  Brother 
3' 


58 


AMONG   THE   PINES. 


Pease"  at  the  Five-Points,  or  as  co-laborer  with  Fred 
Doughiss  at  aboHtion  conv^entions,  or,  if  that  clid'nt  pay^ 
how,  put  into  the  minstrel  business,  he  might  run  the 
white  "troupes"  off  the  track,  and  yield  a  liberal  reve- 
nue to  the  "  Cause  of  Freedom."  As  I  thought  of  the 
probable  effect  of  this  last  appeal,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
the  thing  was  already  done,  and  that  Scip  w^as  Fbee. 

I  got  back  from  dreamland  by  the  simple  act  of 
opening  my  eyes,  and  found  myself  stiR  riding  along  in 
that  Jersey  w^agon,  over  that  heavy,  sandy  road,  and 
drenched  with  the  mists  of  that  dreary  December  day. 
The  reverie  made,  however,  a  deep  impression  on  me, 
and  I  gave  vent  to  it  somewhat  as  follows : 

"  Colonel  A tells  me,   Scip,    that  your  mistress 

wants  to  sell  you.     Do  you  know  wiiat  she  asks  ?" 

"  She  ax  fifteen  hundred  dollar,  massa,  but  I  an't 
worth  dat  now.     Nigger  property's  mighty  low." 

"  What  is  your  value  now  ?" 

"  P'raps  eight   hundred,   p'raps   a   thousand   dollar, 


massa." 


"  Would  your  mistress  take  a  thousand  for  you  ?" 
"  Don't  know,  sar,  but  reckon  she  would.  She'd  be 
glad  to  get  shut  of  me.  She  don't  like  me  on  de  plan- 
tation, 'cause  she  say  de  oder  darkies  tink  too  much  ob 
me ;  and  she  don't  like  me  in  de  city,  'cause  she  'fraid  I 
run  aw^ay." 

"  Why  afraid  you'll  run  aw^ay  ?    Did  you  ever  try  to  ?" 
"  Try  to !  Lor  bless  you,  massa,  I  neber  taught  ob 
such  a  ting — wouldn't  gwo  ef  I  could." 


CFwOSSTNG   THE    ''KUN3. 


"runs."  59 


*'  But  wouldn't  you  ?"  I  asked,  tliinkmg  he  had  con- 
scientious scruples  about  running  away  ;  "  wouldn't  you 
if  you  could  buy  yourseli;  and  go  honestly,  as  a  free 


015 

man  r 


"  Buy  myself,  sar !"  he  exclaimed  in  surprise ;  "  buy 
my  own  flesh  and  blood  dat  de  Lord  hissef  gabe  me ! 
No,  no  !  massa ;  I'd  hlies  to  be  free,  but  I'd  neber  do 

datr 

"  AVhy  not  do  that  ?"  I  asked. 

"  'Cause  't  would  be  owning  dat  de  white  folks  hab  a 
right  to  de  brack;  and  'cause,  sar,  il'I  war  free  I  couldn't 
stay  har." 

"  Why  should  you  stay  here  ?  You  have  no  wife  nor 
child ;  why  not  go  where  the  black  man  is  respected  and 
nseful  ?" 

"  Tse  'spected  and  useful  har,  massa.  I  hab  no  wife 
nor  child,  and  dat  make  me  feel,  I  s'pose,  like  as  ef  all 
de  brack  people  war  my  chil'ren." 

"  But  they  are  not  your  children ;  and  you  can  be  ol 
no  service  to  them.  At  the  North  you  might  learn,  and 
put  your  talents  to  some  use." 

"  Sar,"  he  replied,  a  singular  enthusiasm  hghting  up 
his  face,  "  de  Lord,  dat  make  me  what  I  ar,  put  me  har, 
and  I  must  stay.  Sometimes  when  tings  look  bery 
brack,  and  I  feel  a'most  'scouraged,  I  goes  to  Hm,  and 
I  say,  '  Lord,  I's  ob  no  use,  take  me  'way ;  let  me  get  fru 
wid  dis ;  let  me  no  more  see  de  suffriu'  and  'pression  ob 
de  pore  cuUud  race ;'  den  IIe  say  to  me,  just  so  plain  as 
I  say  it  to  you,  '  Keep  up  good  courage,  Scipio,  de  time 


60  AMOXG   THE   PINES. 

will  come  ;'*  and  now,  bless  de  Lop^d,  de  time  am. 
eomino; !" 

'•'  IVIicU  time  is  coming,  Scipio  ?" 

He  gave  me  a  quick,  suspicions  glance,  but  his  face  in 
a  moment  resumed  its  usual  expression,  as  lie  replied : 
"  Pse  sure,  massa,  dat  I  could  trust  you.  I  feel  you  am 
my  friend,  but  I  can't  say  no  more." 

"  You  need  not,  Scip — I  can  guess.  What  you  have 
said  is  safe  with  me.  But  let  me  counsel  you — wait 
for  the  white  man.  Do  not  let  your  freedom  come  in 
blood !» 

"It  will  come,  massa,  as  de  Lord  will.  When  IIe  war 
fi'eed  de  earth  shooJc,  and  de  vail  oh  de  temple  tear  rent 
in  twain  .^ " 

We  said  no  more,  but  rode  on  in  silence  ;  the  darky 
absorbed  in  his  own  reflections,  I  musing  over  the  black 
volcano,  whose  muffled  echoes  I  then  heard  "  away  down 
South  in  Dixie." 

We  had  ridden  on  for  about  an  hour,  when  an  open- 
ing in  the  trees  disclosed  a  by-path,  leading  to  a  planta- 
tion. Following  it  for  a  short  distance,  we  cam.e  upon  a 
small  clearing,  in  the  midst  of  AV^hich,  flanked  by  a  rag- 
ged corn  and  potato  pawh,  squatted  a  dilapidated, 
unpainted  wooden  buildiag,  a  sort  of  "  half-way  house" 

*  The  Southern  blacks,  like  all  ignorant  people,  are  intensely  fanatical  on  relig- 
ious subjects.  The  most  trifling  occurrences  have  to  their  minds  a  hidden  sig- 
nificance, and  they  believe  the  Lord  speaks  to  them  in  signs  .'.'ad  dreams,  and  in 
almost  every  event  of  nature.  This  superstition,  which  has  been  handed  down 
from  their  savage  ancestry,  has  absolute  sway  over  them,  and  one  readily  sees 
what  immense  power  it  would  give  to  some  kading,  airoit  mind,  that  knew  how 
to  use  it.  By  means  of  it  they  might  be  led  to  the  most  desperate  deeds,  fully 
believing  all  the  while  that  thoy  were  "lod  ob  de  Lokd."  . 


CEOSSING   THE    '*  EUNS.  61 

between  a  hut  and  a  sliantv.  In  its  door-way,  seated  on 
a  chair  which  wanted  one  leg  and  a  back,  was  a  suit  of 
linsey-woolsey,  adorned  by  enormous  metal  buttons,  and 
Burmounted  by  a  queer-looking  headpiece  that  might 
have  passed  for  either  a  hat  or  an  umbrella.  I  was  at  a 
loss  to  determine  whether  the  object  were  a  human  being 
or  a  scarecrow,  when,  at  the  sound  of  our  approach,  the 
umbrella-hke  article  hfted,  and  a  pair  of  sunken  eyes, 
a  nose,  and  an  enormous  beard,  disclosed  themselves. 
Addressing  myself  to  the  singular  figure,  I  inquired  how 
far  we  were  fi'om  our  destination,  and  the  most  dii-ect 
route  to  it. 

"  Wal,  stranger,"  was  the  reply,  "  it's  a  right  smart 
twenty  mile  to  the  Gunnel's,  but  I  reckon  ye'll  get  thar, 
if  ye  follow  yer  critter's  nose,  and  ar   good  at  sv>^im- 


ming." 


"  Why  good  at  swmiming  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  'Cause  the  '  runs'  have  ris,  and  ar  considerable  deep 
by  this  time." 

"  That's  comforting  news." 

"  Yas,  to  a  man  as  seems  in  a  hurry,"  he  replied,  look- 
ing at  my  horse,  which  vras  covered  with  foam. 

"How  far  is  it  to  the  nearest  run  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Y\^al,  it  mought  be  six  mile ;  it  mought  be  seven, 
but  you've  one  or  two  all-fired  ones  to  cross  arter  that." 

Here  was  a  pleasant  predicament.  It  was  nearly  five 
o'clock,  and  our  horse,  though  a  noble  animal,  could  not 
make  the  distance  on  an  unobstructed  route,  in  the  then 
hea\^  state  of  the  roads,  in  less  than  three  hours.    Long 


62  A^rONG   THE   PINES. 

before  that  time  it  would  be  dark,  and  no  doubt  stormy, 
for  the  sky,  which  had  lowered  all  the  afternoon,  every 
now  and  then  uttered  an  ominous  growl,  and  seemed 
ready  to  fall  down  upon   us.     But   turning  back  was 
out  of  the  question,  so,  thanking  the  "  native,"  I  was 
about  to  proceed,  when  he  hailed  me  as  follows : 
"  I  say,  stranger,  what's  the  talk  in  the  city  ?" 
"  Nothing,  sir,"  I  replied,  "  but  fight  and  Secession." 
"  D — n    Secession  !"    was    the   decidedly  energetic 
answer. 

"Why  so,  my  friend?  That  doctrine  seems  to  be 
popular  hereabouts." 

"  Yas,  pop'lar  with  them  South  Car'lina  chaps.  They'd 
be  oneasy  in  heaven  if  Gabriel  was  cook,  and  the  Loed 
head-waiter." 

"  They  must  be  hard  to  suit,"  I  said ;  "  I  '  kalkerlate' 
yoiCre  not  a  South  Carolinian." 

"  No,  sir-ee  !  not  by  several  mile.  My  mother  moved 
over  the  line  to  born  me  a  decent  mdividual." 

"  But  why  are  you  for  the  Union,  when  your  neigh- 
bors go  the  other  way  ?" 

"  'Cause  it's  allers  carried  us  'long  as  slick  as  a  cart 
with  new-greased  wheels  ;  and  'cause,  stranger,  my 
grand'ther  was  one  of  Marion's  boys,  and  spilt  a  lettle 
claret  at  Yewtaw  for  the  old  consarn,  and  I  reckon  he'd 
be  oneasy  in  his  grave  if  I  turned  my  back  on  it  now." 
"  But,  my  friend,"  I  said,  "  they  say  Lincohi  is  an 
Abolitionist,  and  if  inaugurated,  he  will  free  every  darky 
you've  got." 


CKOSSIXG   THE    "  EUXS.  63 

"He  can't  do  that,  stranger,  'cordin'  to  the  Constetu- 
tion,  and  grand'ther  used  to  say  that  ar  dokermunt 
would  hold  the  d — 1  himself;  but,  for  my  part,  I'd  like 
to  see  the  nif^fo-ers  free." 

"  See  the  niggers  free !"  I  replied  in  undisguised  as- 
tonishment; "why,  my  good  sir,  that  is  rank  treason  and 
abolition." 

"  Call  it  what  yer  a  mind  to,  them's  my  sentiments  ; 
but  I  say,  stranger,  if  thar's  ony  thing  on  aii'th  that  I 
uttarly  dispise  it  ar  a  Northern  dough-face,  and  it's  clar 
yer  one  on  'em." 

"  There,  my  friend,  you're  mistaken.  I'm  neither  an 
Abolitionist  nor  a  dough-face.  But  iDliy  do  you  go  for 
ti-eeinof  the  nii2:2:ers  ?" 

"  'Cause  the  white  folks  would  be  better  off.  You  see, 
I  have  to  feed  and  clothe  my  niggers,  and  pay  a  hundred 
and  twenty  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  a  year  for  'em,  and 
if  the  niggers  war  free,  they'd  work  for  'bout  half 
that." 

Continums:  the  conversation,  I  learned  that  the  um- 
brella-hatted  gentleman  worked  twenty  hii-ed  negroes 
in  the  gathering  of  turpentine ;  and  that  the  district  we 
were  entering  was  occujiied  by  persons  in  the  same  pur- 
suit, who  nearly  all  employed  "  hired  hands,"  and  enter- 
tained similar  sentunents  ;  Colonel  J ,  whom  I  was 

about  to  visit,  and  who  was  a  large  slave-oz^?zer,  bemg 
about  the  only  exception.  This,  the  reader  will  please 
remember,  was  the  state  of  tilings  at  the  date  of  which 
I  am  writing,  in  the  very  heart  of  Secessiondom. 


64  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

Bidding  the  turpentiiie-getter  a  rather  reluctant 
"  good-by,"  I  rode  on  into  the  rain. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  we  reached  the  first  "  run," 
"but,  fortunately,  it  was  less  swollen  than  our  way-side 
acquamtance  had  represented,  and  we  succeeded  in 
crossing  without  difficulty.  Hoping  that  the  others 
might  be  equally  as  fordable,  we  pushed  rapidly  on, 
the  darkness  meanwhile  gathering  thickly  about  us,  and 
the  raui  continuing  to  fall.  Our  way  lay  through  an 
unbroken  forest,  and  as  the  wind  swept  fiercely  through 
it,  the  tall  dark  pines  which  towered  on  either  side, 
moaned  and  sighed  like  a  legion  of  unhappy  spirits  let 
loose  from  the  dark  abodes  below.  Occasionally  we 
came  upon  a  patch  of  woods  where  the  turpentine- 
gatherer  had  been  at  work,  and  the  white  faces  of  the 
"  tapped"  trees,  gleaming  through  the  darkness,  seemed 
an  army  of  "  sheeted  ghosts"  closing  steadily  around  us. 
The  darkness,  the  rain,  and  the  hideous  noises  in  the 
forest,  called  up  unpleasant  associations,  and  I  inwardly 
determined  to  ask  hosrjitality  from  the  first  human  bemgr, 
black  or  white,  whom  we  should  meet. 

We  had  ridden  on  for  about  an  hour  after  dark,  when 
suddenly  our  horse  s  feet  plashed  in  the  water,  and  he 
sank  to  his  middle  in  a  stream.  My  first  thought  was 
that  we  were  m  the  second  "  run,"  but  as  he  pushed 
slowly  on,  the  water  momentarily  growing  deeper,  and 
spreadmg  on  either  side  as  far  as  we  could  see,  it  flashed 
upon  me  that  we  had  missed  the  road  in  the  darkness, 
and  were  fairly  launched   into   the  Waccamaw  river! 


CROSSING    THE    ^'eUXS.  65 

Turnmg  to  the  darky,  wlio  was  tlien  driving,  I  said 
quickly : 

"  Scip,  stop  the  horse.     Where  are  we  ?" 

"  Don't  know,  massa ;  reckon  we'se  in  de  riber." 

*'  A  comfortable  situation  this.  "We  can't  turn  round. 
The  horse  can't  swim  such  a  stream  in  harness.  What 
shall  we  do  ?" 

"  Can  you  swim,  massa  ?"  he  quietly  asked. 

"Yes,  hke  an  eel." 

"  Wal,  den,  we'd  better  gwo  on.  De  hoss  '11  swim. 
But,  massa,  you  might  take  off  your  boots  and  over- 
coat, and  be  ready  for  a  spring  ef  he  gwo  dovv^n." 

I  did  as  he  directed,  while  he  let  down  the  apron  and 
top  of  the  wagon,  and  fastened  the  reins  loosely  to  the 
dash-board,  saying  as  he  did  so,  "  You  must  allers  gib  a 
hoss  his  head  when  he  swim,  massa ;  if  you  rein  him,  he 
gwo  down,  shore."  Then,  undomg  a  portion  of  the 
harness,  to  give  the  horse  the  free  use  of  his  legs,  he 
shouted,  "  Gee  up,  ole  Gray,"  and  we  started. 

The  noble  animal  stepped  off  slowly  and  cautiously, 
as  if  fully  aware  of  the  danger  of  the  passage,  but  had 
proceeded  only  about  fifty  yards  when  he  lost  his  foot- 
ing, and  plunged  us  uito  an  entu-ely  new  and  decidedly 
cold  hip-bath.  "  Xow's  de  time,  ole  Gray,"  "  show  your 
broughten  up,  ole  boy,"  "  let  de  gemraan  see  you  swim, 
ole  feller,"  and  similar  remarks  proceeded  rapidly  from 
the  darky,  who  all  the  time  avoided  touching  the  reins. 

It  may  have  been  one  minute,  it  may  have  been  five 
minutes — I  took  "  no  note  of  ti'me''' — before  the  horse 


GQ  AMONG   THE    PINES. 

again  struck  bottom,  and  halted  from  sheer  exhaustion, 
the  water  still  ahxiost  level  with  his  back,  and  the  oppo- 
site bank  too  far-ofl*  to  be  seen  throuo-h  the  darkness. 
After  a  short  rest,  he  again  "  breasted  the  waters,"  and 
in  a  few  moments  landed  us  on  the  shore ;  not,  unfor- 
tunately, in  the  road,  but  in  the  midst  of  the  pine-trees, 
there  so  entangled  with  under-growth,  that  not  even  a 
man,  much  less  a  horse,  could  make  his  way  through 
them.     Wet  to  the  skin,  and  shivering  with  the  cold, 
we  had  no  time  to  lose  "  in  gittin'  out  of  dat,"  if  we 
would  avoid  greater  dangers  than  those  we  had  escaped. 
So,  sj^ringing  from  the  wagon,  the  darky  waded  up  the 
stream,  near  its  bank,  to  reconnoitre.     Returning  in  a 
few  mmutes,  he  reported  that  we  were  about  a  hundred 
yards  below  the  road.     We  had  been  carried  that  far 
down  stream  by  the  strength  of  the  current.     Our  only 
course  was  to  follow  the  "  run"  up  along  its  bank  ;  this 
we  did,  and  in  a  short  time  had  the  satisfaction  of  strik- 
ing the  high  road.     Arranging  the  harness,   we  were 
soon  under  way  again,  the  horse  bounding  along  as  if 
he  felt  the  necessity  of  vigorous  exercise  to  restore  his 
chilled  circulation.     We  afterward  learned  that  it  was 
not  the  Waccamaw  we  had  crossed,   but  the   second 
*'  run"  our  native  friend  had  told  us  of,  and  that  the 
water  in  the  middle  of  its  stream  was  fifteen  feet  deep ! 
Half-dead  with  cold  and  wet,  we  hurried  on,  but  stiU 
no  welcome  light  beckoned  us  to  a  human  habitation. 
The  darkness  grew  denser  till  Ave  could  not  even  distin- 
guish the  road,  much  less  our  horse's  nose,  which  we  had 


CEOSsixG  THE  "Krxs/'  67 

been  directed  to  follow.  Lnvardly  cursing  the  folly 
which  brought  me  mto  such  a  wilderness,  I  said  to  the 
darkv : 

"  Scip,  I'm  sorry  I  took  you  on  such  a  trip  as  this." 

"Oh!  neber  niiiid  me,  massa;  I  ruther  hke  de  dark 
nicrht  and  de  storm." 

"  Like  the  night  and  the  storm !  why  so  ?" 

"  'Cause  den  de  wild  spirits  come  out,  and  talk  m  de 
trees.  Dey  make  me  feel  bery  strong  har^''  he  replied, 
strikins;  his  hand  on  his  breast. 

"The  night  and  the  storm,  Scip,  make  rae  feel  hke 
cultivating  another  sort  of  spirits.  There  are  some  hi 
the  wagon-box ;  suppose  we  stop  and  see  what  they  are." 

We  stopped,  and  I  took  out  a  small  willow-flask, 
which  held  the  "  spirits  of  Otard,"  and  offered  it  to  tlie 
darky. 

"  jSTo,  massa,"  he  said,  laughing,  "  I  neber  touch  dem 
sort  ob  spirits ;  dey  raise  de  bery  ole  deble." 

Not  heeding  the  darky's  example,  I  took  "  a  long  and 
a  strong  pull,"  and — felt  the  better  for  it. 

Again  we  rode  on,  and  again  and  again  I  "communed 
with  the  spirits,"  till  a  sudden  exclamation  from  Scip 
aroused  me  from  the  half  stupor  into  which  I  was  falling. 
"  \Yhat's  the  matter  ?"  I  asked. 

"  A  hght,  massa,  a  hght  I" 

"Where?" 

"Dar,  way  oif  m  de  trees — " 

"Sure  enough,  glory,  hallelujah,  there  it  is!  We're 
all  right  now,  Scip." 


6S  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

We  rode  on  till  we  came  to  the  inevitable  opening  in 
the  trees,  and  were  soon  at  the  door  of  what  I  saw,  by 
the  hght  which  came  through  the  crevices  in  the  logs, 
was  a  one-story  shanty,  about  twenty  feet  square.  "Will 
you  let  us  come  in  out  ob  de  rain  ?"  asked  Scip  of  a 
wretched-looking,  half-clad,  dirt-bedraggled  woman,  who 
thrust  her  head  from  the  doorway. 

"  Who  ar  ye  ?"  was  the  reply. 

"  Only  massa  and  me,  and  de  hoss,  and  we'm  half  dead 
wid  de  cold,"  rephed  Scip;  "can  we  cum  in  out  ob 
de  rain  ?" 

"Wal,  strangers,"  rephed  the  woman,  eyeing  us  as 
closely  as  the  darkness  would  permit,  "  you'll  find 
mighty  poor  fixius  har,  but  I  reckon  ye  can  come  in." 


POOR   WHITES. 


6U 


CHAPTER  W. 

POOR    WHITES. 

ExTEKixG  the  house,  we  saw,  by  the  light  of  a  blazing 
pile  of  pine-knots,  which  roared  and  crackled  on  the 
hearth,  that  it  contained  only  a  single  apartment.  In 
front  of  the  fire-place,  which  occupied  the  better  half  of 
one  side  of  this  room,  the  floor  was  of  the  bare  earth, 
Uttered  over  with  pine  chips,  dead  cinders,  hve  coals, 
broken  pots,  and  a  lazy  spaniel  dog.  Opposite  to  this, 
at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  were  two  low  beds,  which 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  "  slept  in  forever,  and  never 
made  up."  Against  the  wall,  between  the  beds  and  the 
tire-place,  stood  a  small  pine  table,  and  on  it  was  a  large 
wooden  bowl,  from  whose  mouth  protruded  the  handles 
of  several  unwashed  pewter  spoons.  On  the  right  of 
the  fire  was  a  razeed  rocking-chair,  evidently  the  pecu- 
liar property  of  the  mistress  of  the  mansion,  and  three 
blocks  of  pine  log,  sawn  ofi"  smoothly,  and  made  to  serve 
for  seats.  Over  against  these  towered  a  high-backed 
Kettle,  something  like  that  on  which 

"  sot  Hiildj  all  alone, 
"Wlien  Zeke  peeked  thru  the  \7inder ;" 

and  on  it,  her  head  resting  partly  on  her  arm,  partly  on 
the  end  of  the  settle,  one  small,  bare  foot  pressing  the 


TO  AMOKG   THE   FINES. 

ground,  the  other,  with  the  part  of  the  person  which  i8 
supposed  to  require  stockings,  extended  in  a  horizontal 
direction — reclined,  not  Huldy,  but  her  Southern  cousin, 
who,  I  will  wager,  was  decidedly  the  prettier  and  dirtier 
of  the  two.  Our  entrance  did  not  seem  to  disconcert 
her  in  the  least,  for  she  lay  there  as  unmoved  as  a  marble 
statue,  her  large  black  eyes  riveted  on  my  face,  as  L 
seeinof  some  nondescript  animal  for  the  first  time.     I 

dJ  J. 

stood  for  a  moment  transfixed  with  admiration.  In  a 
somewhat  extensive  observation  of  her  sex  iii  both  hem- 
ispheres, I  had  never  witnessed  such  a  form,  such  eyes, 
such  fiultless  features,  and  such  wavy,  black,  luxuriant 
hair.  A  glance  at  her  dress — a  soiled,  greasy,  grayish 
linsey-AVOolsey  gown,  apparently  her  only  garment — and 
a  second  look  at  her  face,  which,  on  closer  inspection, 
had  precisely  the  hue  of  a  tallow  candle,  recalled  me  to 
myself,  and  allowed  me  to  complete  the  survey  of  the 
premises. 

The  house  was  built  of  unhewn  logs,  separated  by 
wide  interstices,  through  which  the  cold  air  came,  in  de- 
cidedly fresh  if  not  health-giving  currents,  while  a  large 
rent  in  the  roof,  that  let  in  the  rain,  gave  the  inm^ates  an 
excellent  o]3portunity  for  indulging  in  a  shower-bath,  of 
which  they  seemed  greatly  in  need.  The  chimney,  which 
had  mtruded  a  couple  of  feet  into  the  room,  as  if  to  keep 
out  of  the  cold,  and  threatened  momentarily  to  tumble 
down,  was  of  sticks,  built  up  in  clay,  while  the  windows 
were  of  thick,  unplaned  boards. 

Two  pretty  girls,  one  of  perhaps  ten  and  the  other  of 


POOR   WHITES.  ^       71 

fourteen  years,  evidently  sisters  of  the  unadorned  beauty, 
the  middle-aG:ed  woman  who  had  admitted  us,  and  the 
dog — the  only  male  member  of  the  household — com- 
posed the  family.  I  had  seen  negro  cabins,  but  these 
23eo2)le  were  whites,  and  these  whites  were  South  Garo- 
li?dcms.  When  such  counterparts  of  the  feudal  serfs 
still  exist,  who  will  say  that  the  days  of  chivalry  are 
over ! 

After  I  had  seated  myself  by  the  fire,  and  the  di'iver 
had  Q^one  out  to  stow  the  horse  awav  under  the  tumble- 
down  shed  at  the  back  of  the  house,  the  elder  woman 
said  to  me — 

"  Reckon  yer  wet.     Ben  in  the  rain !" 

"Yes,  madam,  we've  been  out  most  of  the  day,  and 
got  in  the  river  below  here." 

"Did  ye?  Ye  mean  the  'run.'  I  reckon  it's  right 
deep  now." 

"  Yes,  our  horse  had  to  swim,"  I  rephed. 

"  Ye  orter  strip  and  put  on  dry  does  to  onst." 

"  Thank  you,  madam,  I  will." 

Going  to  my  portmanteau,  which  the  darky  had 
placed  near  the  door,  I  found  it  dripping  with  wet,  and 
opening  it  I  discovered  that  every  article  had  undergone 
the  rite  of  immersion. 

"  Every  thing  is  thoroughly  soaked,  madam.  I  shall 
have  to  dry  myself  by  your  fire.  Can  you  get  me  a  cup 
of  tea?" 

"  Right  sorry,  stranger,  but  I  can't.  Haint  a  morsel 
to  eat  or  diink  in  the  house.'* 


72  AMONG   THE    PINES. 

Remembering  that  our  excellent  hostess  of  the  night 
before  had  insisted  on  filling  the  wagon-box  with  a  quan- 
tity of  "chicken  fi^ins,"  to  serve  us  in  an  emergency, 
and  that  my  brandy  flask  was  in  my  India-rubber  coat, 
I  sent  Scip  out  for  them.  • 

The  stores  disclosed  boiled  chicken,  bacon,  sandwiches, 
sweet  potatoes,  shortcake,  corn-bread,  buttered  waffles, 
and  'common  doin's'  too  numerous  to  mention,  enough 
to  last  a  family  of  one  for  a  fortnight,  but  all  completely 
saturated  with  water.  Wet  or  dry,  however,  the  pro- 
visions were  a  godsend  to  the  half-starved  family,  and 
their  hearts  seemed  to  open  to  me  with  amazing  rapidity. 
The  dog  got  up  and  wagged  his  tail,  and  even  the  marble 
like  beauty  rose  from  her  reclining  posture  and  invitet 
me  to  a  seat  with  her  on  the  bench. 

The  kettle  was  soon  steaming  over  the  fire,  and  the 
boihng  water,  mixed  with  a  little  brandy,  served  as  a 
capital  substitute  for  tea.  After  the  chicken  was  re- 
cooked,  and  the  other  edibles  "warmed  up,"  the  httle 
pine  table  was  brought  out,  and  I  learned — what  I  had 
before  suspected — that  the  big  wooden  bowl  and  the 
half  dozen  pevv^ter  spoons  were  the  only  "crockery"  the 
family  possessed. 

I  decHned  the  profiJered  seat  at  the  table,  the  cooking 
utensils  being  any  thing  but  inviting,  and  contented 
myself  with  the  brandy  and  Avater;  but,  forgetting  for  a 
moment  his  color,  I  motioned  to  the  darky — who  was 
as  wet  and  jaded,  and  much  more  hungry  than  I  was  — 
to  take  the  place  ofiered  to  me.     The  negro  did  not  seem 


POOR    WHITES.  73 

inclined  to  do  so,  but  the  Tvoman,  observing  my  gesture, 
yelled  out,  her  eyes  flashing  with  anger: 

"  JSTo,  sar !  'No  darkies  eats  with  us.  Hope  you  don't 
reckon  yerself^  no  better  than  a  good-for-nothin',  no  ac- 
count nigger !" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  madam;  I  intended  no  offence. 
Scipio  has  served  me  very  faithfully  for  two  days,  and  is 
very  tired  and  hungry.     I  forgot  myself." 

This  mollified  the  lady,  and  she  replied: 

"diggers  is  good  enuff  in  thar  place,  but  warn't  meant 
to  'sociate  with  white  folks." 

There  may  have  been  some  ground  for  a  distinction  in 
that  case :  there  certainlv  was  a  difference  between  the 
specimens  of  the  two  races  then  before  me;  but,  not 
being  one  of  the  chivalry,  it  struck  me  that  the  odds 
were  on  the  side  of  the  black  man.  The  whites  were 
shiftless,  ragged,  and  starving ;  the  black  well  clad, 
cleanly,  energetic,  and  as  much  above  the  others  in  in- 
tellect as  Jupiter  is  above  a  church  steeple.  To  be  sure, 
color  was  against  him,  and  he  was,  after  all,  a  servant 
m  the  land  of  chivalry  and  of  serv^ant-owners.  Of  course 
the  woman  was  right. 

She  soon  resumed  the  conversation  with  this  re- 
mark : 

"Reckon  yer  a  stranger  in  these  parts;  whar  d'y© 
'jome  from?" 

"From  Xew  York,  madam." 

"New  York!    whar's  that?" 

"  It's  a  city  at  the  North." 
4 


74 


AMONG    THE    TIKES. 


"Oh!  yas;  I've  lieern  tell  on  it:  that's  wbar  tlie  Cimnel 
sells  his  turpeiitime.     Quite  a  place,  arnt  it?" 

"Yes,  quite  a  place.  Something  larger  than  all  South 
Caiolina." 

"A'^Hiat  dije  say?  Larger  nor  South  Carolma. 
Kinder  reckon  tain't,  is't?" 

"Yes,  madam,  it  is." 

"  Du  tell !     'Taint  so  large  as  Charles'n,  is't  ?" 

"  Yes,  twenty  thnes  larger  than  Charleston." 

"  Lord  o'massy  !     How  does  all  the  folks  live  thar  ?" 

"  Live  quite  as  well  as  they  do  here." 

"  Ye  don't  have  no  niggers  thar,  does  ye  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  none  that  are  slaves." 

"  Have  Abhsherners  thar,  don't  ye  ?  them  people  that 
go  agin  the  South  ?" 

"  Yes,  some  of  them." 

"  What  do  they  go  agm  the  South  for  ?" 

"  They  go  for  freeing  the  slaves.  Some  of  them  think 
a  black  man  as  good  as  a  white  one." 

"  Quar,  that ;  yer  an  Ablisherner,  arnt  ye  ?" 

"  N"o,  I'm  an  old-fashioned  Whig." 

"  Yv^hat's  that  ?     Kever  heerd  on  them  afore." 

"An  old-fashioned  AYhig,  madam,  is  a  man  whose 
pohtical  principles  are  perfect,  and  who  is  as  perfect  as 
his  principles."  « 

That  was  a  "  stimiper"  for  the  poor  woman,  who  evi- 
dently did  not  understand  one-half  of  the  sentence. 

"  Right  sort  of  folks,  them,"  she  said,  in  a  half  inquir- 
ing tone. 


POOK    WHITES.  75 

"  Yes,  but  they're  all  dead  now." 

«  Dead  ?» 

"  Yes,  dead,  beyond  the  hope  of  resurrection." 

"  Iv'e   heern   all   the   dead   war   to   be   resurrected. 

Didn't  ye  say  ye  war  one  on  'em  ?     Te  aint  dead  yet," 

said  the  woman,  chucklinof  at  hayino;  cornered  me. 
"  But  I'm  more  than  holj^  dead  just  now." 
"  Ah,"   replied   the   woman,    still  laugliing,   "  yer   a 

chicken." 

"  A  chicken !  what's  that  ?" 

"  A  thing  that  goes  on  tu  legs,  and  karldes,"  was  the 

ready  reply.  ^ 

"  All,  my  dear  madam,  you  can  out-talk  me." 
"  Yas,  I  reckon  I  kin  outrim  ye,  tu.     Ye  arnt  oyer 

rugged."     Then,  after  a  pause,  she  added — "What  d'ye 

'lect  that  darky,  Linkum,  President  for  ?" 

"I  didn't  elect  him.     Zyoted  for  Douorlas.     But  Lm- 

coin  is  not  a  darky." 

"  He's  a mullater,  then ;  IVe  heern  he  war,"  she  replied. 
"  Xo,  he's  not  a  mulatto  ;  he's  a  rail-spUtter." 
"Rail-splitter?     17ien  he's  a  nigger^  shoreP 
"  Xo,  madam ;  white  men  at  the  jSTorth  split  rails." 
"  An'  white  wimmin  tu,  p'raps,"  said  the  woman,  with 

a  contemptuous  toss  of  the  head. 

"  No,  they  don't,"  I  replied,  "  but  white  women  icorh 

there." 

"  White  wimmin  work  thar !"  cliimed  in  the  hitherto 
speechless  beauty,  shoTsdng  a  set  of  teeth  of  the  exact 
color  of  her  skin — yaller.     "  What  du  the'  du  ?" 


'6 


A3I0NG   THE   PINES* 


"  Some  of  tliem  attend  in  stores,  some  set  type,  some 
teach  school,  and  some  work  in  factories." 

"  Du  tell !     Dress  nice,  and  make  money?" 

"  Yes,"  I  repHed,  "  they  make  money,  and  dress  like 
fme  ladies  ;-iu  fact,  are  fine  ladies.  I  know  one  yomig 
woman,  of  about  your  age,  that  had  to  get  her  own  edu- 
cation, who  earns  a  thousand  dollars  a  year  by  teaching, 
and  I've  heard  of  many  factory-girls  who  support  their 
parents,  and  lay  by  a  great  deal  of  money,  by  working 
in  the  mills." 

"  Wal !"  replied  the  young  woman,  with  a  contemptu- 
ous curl  of  her  matchless  upper  lip ;  "  schule-marms  arn't 
fine  ladies ;  fine  ladies  don't  work ;  only  niggers  works 
har.  I  reckon  I'd  ruther  be  'spectable  than  work  for  a 
livin'." 

I  could  but  think  how  magnificently  the  hps  of  some 
of  our  glorious  Yankee  girls  would  have  curled  had 
they  have  heard  that  remark,  and  have  seen  the  poor  girl 
that  made  it,  with  her  torn,  worn,  greasy  dress ;  her 
bare,  dirty  legs  and  feet,  and  her  arms,  neck,  and  face  so 
thickly  encrusted  with  a  layer  of  clayey  mud  that  there 
was  danger  of  hydrophobia  if  she  went  near  a  wash-tub. 
Restraining  my  involuntary  disgust,  I  replied :  . 

"  We  at  the  i^orth  think  work  is  respectable.  We 
do  not  look  down  on  a  man  or  a  woman  for  earning  their 
djiily  bread.     We  all  work." 

"  Yas,  and  that's  the  why  ye'r  all  sech  cowards,"  said 
the  old  woman. 

"  Cowards !"  T  said ;  ''  who  tells  you  that?" 


POOR    WHITES.  77 

"  My  old  man ;  lie  says  one  on  our  hoys  can  lick  five 
of  your  Yankee  menP 

"  Perhaps  so.     Is  your  husband  away  from  home  ?" 

"  Yas,  him  and  our  Cal.  ar  doT\m  to  Charles'u." 

"  Cal.  is  your  son,  is  he  ?" 

"  Yas,  he's  my  oldest,  and  a  hkely  lad  he  ar  tu — ^lie's 
twenty-one,  and  his  name  are  Johx  Cal'ouis'  Mills. 
He's  gone  a  troopin'  it  with  his  fader." 

"  What,  both  gone  and  left  you  ladies  here  alone  ?" 

"  Yas,  the  Gunnel  sed  every  man  orter  go,  and  they 
"warn't  to  be  ahind  the  rest.  The  Gunnel — Gunnel  J. — 
looks  arter  us  while  thev  is  awav." 

"  But  I  should  thuik  the  Golonel  looked  after  you 
poorly — giving  you  nothing  to  eat." 

"  Oh  !  it's  ben  sech  a  storm  to-dav,  the  sjrals  couldn't 
go  for  the  vittles,  though  'tain't  a  great  way.  We'r 
on  his  plantation;  this  house  is  his'n." 

This  last  was  agreeable  news,  and  it  occurred  to 
me  that  if  we  were  so  near  the  Golonel's  we  mieht 
push  on,  in  spite  of  the  storm,  and  get  there  that 
nio-ht :  so  I  said : 

"  Indeed  ;  I'm  going  to  the  Colonel's.  How  far  is  his 
house  from  here  ?" 

"  A  right  smart  six  mile  ;  it's  at  the  Cross  roads.  Yo 
know  the  Gunnel,  du  ye  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  him  well.  If  his  house  is  not  more 
than  six  miles  off,  I  think  we  had  better  go  on  to-night. 
"What  do  you  say,  Scip  ?"  * 

"I  reckon  we'd  better  gwo,  massa,"  replied  tlie  darky, 


7S  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

who  had  spread  my  travelling-shawl  in  the  chimney-, 
corner,  and  was  seated  on  it,  drying  his  clothes. 

"  Ye'd  better  not,"  said  the  woman;  "  ye'd  "better 
stay  har ;  thar's  a  right  smart  run  twixt  bar  and  the 
Gunnel's,  and  'tain't  safe  to  cross  arter  dark." 

"  If  that  is  so  we'd  better  stay,  Scip  ;  don't  you  think 
60  r"  I  said  to  the  darky. 

"  Jess  as  you  say,  massa.  We  got  fru  wid  de  oder 
one,  and  I  reckon  taint  no  wuss  nor  dat." 

"  The  bridge  ar  carried  away,  and  ye'll  hev  to  swim, 
^/iore,"  said  the  woman.     "  Ye'd  better  stay." 

"  Thank  you,  madam,  I  think  we  will,"  I  replied,  after 
a  moment's  thought ;  "  our  horse  has  swum  one  of  your 
creeks  to-night,  and  I  dare  not  try  another." 

Having  taken  off"  my  coat,  I  had  been  standing,  during 
the  greater  part  of  this  conversation,  in  my  shirt-sleeves 
before  the  fire,  turning  round  occasionally  to  facilitate 
the  drying  process,  and  taking  every  now  and  then  a  sip 
from  the  gourd  containing  our  brandy  and  water ;  aided 
in  the  latter  exercise  by  the  old  woman  and  the  eldest 
girl,  who  indulged  quite  as  freely  as  I  did 

"  Mighty  good  brandy  that,"  at  last  said  the  woman. 
"Ye  like  brandy,  don't  ye?" 

"  Not  very  much,  madam.  I  take  it  to-night  because 
I've  been  exposed  to  the  storm,  and  it  stimulates  the  cir- 
culation. But  Scip,  here,  don't  like  spirits.  He'll  get 
the  rheumatism  because  he  don't." 

"  Don't  like  dem  sort  of  sperits,  massa ;  but  rmuatics 
neber  trubble  me." 


POOR    WHITES.  79 

"  But  I've  got  it  mighty  bad,"  said  the  woman,  "  and 
I  take  ''era  lohejiever  I  kin  get  'e??2." 

I  rather  thought  she  did,  but  I  "  reckoned''  her  prin- 
cipal beverage  was  whiskey. 

"You  have  the  rheumatism,  madam,  because  your 
house  is  so  open  ;  a  draught  of  air  is  always  unhealthy." 

"I  allers  reckoned  'twar  healthy^''''  she  rej;)lied.  "Ye 
Yankee  folks  have  quar  notions." 

I  looked  at  my  watch,  and  found  it  was  nearly  ten 
o'clock,  and,  feeling  very  tired,  said  to  the  hostess : 

"  AYhere  do  you  mean  we  shall  sleep  ?" 

''  Ye  can  take  that  ar  bed,"  pointing  to  the  one  near- 
er the  vrall,  "  the  darky  can  sleep  har ;"  motionmg  to 
the  settle  on  which  she  was  seated. 

"  But  where  will  you  and  your  daughters  sleep  ?  I 
don't  wish  to  turn  you  out  of  your  beds." 

"  Oh!  don't  ye  keer  for  us ;  we  kin  all  bunk  together; 
dun  it  afore.     Like  to  turn  in  now  ?" 

*'  Yes,  thank  you,  I  would  ;"  and  without  more  cere- 
mony I  adjourned  to  the  further  part  of  the  room, 
and  commenced  disrobing.  Doffing  my  boots,  waist- 
coat, and  cravat,  and  placing  my  watch  and  purse 
under  the  pillovr,  I  gave  a  moment's  thought  to  what 
a  certain  not  very  old  lady,  whom  I  had  left  at  home, 
might  say  when  she  heard  of  my  lodging  v/ith  a  grass- 
widow  and  three  young  girls,  and  sprang  into  bed. 
There  I  removed  my  under-mentionables,  which  were 
still  too  damp  to  sleep  in,  and  in  about  two  minutes  and 
thirty  seconds  sunk  into  oblivion. 


80  AlklONG   THE   PINES. 

A  few  Streaks  of  grajdsh  light  were  beginning  to 
•  creep  through  the  crevices  in  the  logs,  when  a  move- 
ment at  the  foot  of  the  bed  awakened  me,  and  glancing 
downward  I  beheld  the  youngest  girl  emerging  from 
under  the  clothes  at  my  feet.  She  had  slept  there, 
*'  cross-wise,"  all  night.  A  stir  in  the  adjoining  bed 
soon  warned  me  that  the  other  femi nines  were  pre- 
paring to  follow  her  example ;  so,  turning  my  face  to 
the  wall,  I  feigned  to  be  sleeping.  Their  toilet  was 
soon  made,  when  they  quietly  left  Scip  and  myself  in 
possession  of  the  premises. 

The  darky  rose  as  soon  as  they  were  gone,  and,  com- 
ing to  me,  said : 

"  Massa,  we'd  better  be  gwine.  I'se  got  your  does 
all  dry,  and  you  can  rig  up  and  breakfust  at  de  Gun- 
nel's." 

The  storm  had  cleared  away,  and  the  sun  was  strug- 
gling to  get  through  the  distant  pines,  when  Scip 
brought  the  horse  to  the  door,  and  we  prepared  to 
start.     Turning  to  the  old  woman,  I  said : 

"  I  feel  greatly  obliged  to  you,  madam,  for  the  shel- 
ter you  have  given  us,  and  would  like  to  make  you  some 
recompense  for  your  trouble.  Please  to  tell  me  what  I 
shall  pay  you." 

"  Wal,  stranger,  we  don't  gin'rally  take  in  lodgers, 
but  seein'  as  how  as  thar  ar  tu  on  ye,  and  ye've  had  a 
good  night  on  it,  I  don't  keer  if  ye  pay  me  tu  dollars." 

That  struck  me  as  "  rather  steep"  for  "  common 
doin's,"  particularly  as  we  had  furnished  the  food  and 


POOK   WHTTES.  81 

"  the  di'iiiks  ;"  yet,  saying  notliing,  I  handed  her  a  two- 
dollar  bank-note.  She  took  it,  and  held  it  up  curiously 
to  the  sun  for  a  moment,  then  handed  it  Lack,  saying, 
*'  I  don't  know  nuthin'  'bout  that  ar  sort  o'  money ; 
haint  you  got  no  silver  ?" 

I  fambled  in  my  pocket  a  moment,  and  found  a  quar- 
ter-eagle, which  I  gave  her. 

"  Ilaint  got  nary  a  fip  o'  change,"  she  said,  as  she 
took  it. 

"  Oh  !  never  mind  the  change,  madam  ;  I  shall  want 
to  stop  and  looh  at  you  when  I  return,"  I  replied,  good- 
humoredly. 

"  Ha !  ha !  yer  a  chicken,"  said  the  woman,  at  the 
same  time  giving  me  a  gentle  poke  in  the  ribs.  Fear- 
ing she  might,  in  the  exuberance  of  her  joy  at  the  sight 
of  the  money,  proceed  to  some  more  decided  demonstra- 
tion of  affection,  I  hastily  stepped  into  the  wagon,  bade 
her  good-by,  and  was  off. 

We  were  still  among  the  pines,  which  towered  gigan- 
tically all  around  us,  but  were  no  longer  alone.  Every 
tree  was  scarified  for  turpentine,  and  the  forest  was 
alive  with  ne2:ro  men  and  w^omen  s-atheruio-  the  " last 
dipping,"  or  clearing  away  the  stumps  and  underbrush 
preparatory  to  the  spring  work.  It  was  Christmas 
week ;  but,  as  I  afterward  learned,  the  Colonel's  ne- 
groes were  accustomed  to  doing  "  half  tasks"  at  that 
season,  being  paid  for  their  labor  as  if  they  were  free. 
They  stopped  their  work  as  we  rode  by,  and  stared  at 

us  with  a  stupid,  half-frightened  curiosity,  very  much 
4=H 


82  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

like  the  look  of  a  cow  when  a  railway  train  is  passing. 
It  needed  but  httle  observation  to  convmce  me  that 
their  status  was  but  one  step  above  the  level  of  the 
brutes. 

As  we  rode  along  I  said  to  the  driver,  "  Scip,  what 
did  you  think  of  our  lodo-ino-s  ?" 

"  Mighty  pore,  niassa.     Xiggas  hb  better'n  dat." 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  but  these  folks  despise  you  blacks ; 
they  seem  to  be  both  poor  and  proud." 

"  Yas,  massa,  dey'm  pore  'cause  dey  wont  work,  and 
dey'm  proud  'cause  dey'r  white.  Dey  wont  work 
'cause  dey  see  de  darky  slaves  doin'  it,  and  tink  it  am 
beneaf  white  folks  to  do  as  de  darkies  do.  Dis  habin' 
slaves  keeps  dis  hull  country  pore." 

*'  Who  told  you  that  ?"  I  asked,  astonished  at  hear- 
ing^ a  remark  showins:  so  much  reflection  from  a  negro. 

"  Nobody,  massa  ;  I  see  it  mysefF." 

"  Are  there  many  of  these  poor  whites  aroimd  George- 
town ?" 

"  Not  many  'round  Georgetown,  sar,  but  great  many 
in  de  up-country  har,  and  dey'm  all  'lik^ — pore  and  no 
account ;  none  ob  'em  kin  read,  and  dey  all  eat  clay." 

"  Eat  clay  !"  I  said  ;  "  what  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

"  Didn't  you  see,  massa,  how  yaller  all  dem  wimmin 
war  ?  Dat's  'cause  dey  eat  clay.  De  httle  children  be- 
gin 'fore  dey  kin  walk,  and  dey  eat  it  till  dey  die  ;  dey 
chaw  it  like  'backer.  It  makes  all  dar  stumacs  big,  like 
as  you  seed  'em,  and  spiles  dar  'gestion.  It  'm  mighty 
onhealfy." 


POOR   WHITES.  83 

"  Can  it  "be  possible  that  Iranian  beings  do  such 
thino's  !     The  brutes  wouldn't  do  that." 

*'  ISiO,  massa,  but  dei/  do  it ;  dey'm  pore  trash.  Dat's 
what  de  big  folks  call  'em,  and  it  am  true  ;  dey'm  long 
wav  lower  down  dan  de  darkies." 

By  this  time  we  had  arrived  at  the  "  run."  We  found 
the  bridge  carried  away,  as  the  woman  had  told  us ;  but 
its  abutments  were  still  standing,  and  over  these  planks 
had  been  laid,  which  afforded  a  safe  crossing  for  foot- 
passengers.  To  reach  these  planks,  however,  it  was 
necessary  to  wade  into  the  stream  for  full  fifty  yards, 
the  "  run"  having  overflowed  its  banks  for  that  dlstancB 
on  either  side  of  the  bridge.  The  v/ater  was  evidently 
receding,  but,  as  we  could  not  well  wait,  like  the  man 
in  the  fable,  for  it  all  to  run  by,  we  alighted,  and  coun- 
selled as  to  the  best  mode  of  making  the  passage. 

Scip  proposed  that  he  should  wade  in  to  the  first 
abutment,  ascertain  the  depth  of  the  stream,  and  then, 
if  it  was  not  too  deep  for  the  horse  to  ford  to  that 
point,  drive  that  far,  get  out,  and  walk  to  the  end  of 
the  planking,  leading  the  horse,  and  then  again  mount 
the  wagon  at  the  further  end  of  the  bridge.  We  were 
sure  the  horse  would  have  to  swim  in  the  middle  of  the 
current,  and  perhaps  for  a  considerable  distance  beyond; 
but,  having  witnessed  his  proficiency  in  aquatic  per- 
formances, we  had  no  doubt  he  would  get  safely  across. 

The  darky's  plan  was  decided  on,  and  divesting  hinu 
self  of  his  trowsers,  he  waded  into  the  "  rmi"  to  take 
the  soundings. 


84:  AMOXG    THE    PCi-ES. 

While  he  Tvas  m  the  water  my  attention  was  at- 
tracted to  a  printed  paper,  posted  on  one  of  the  pines 
near  the  roadside.     Going  up  to  it,  I  read  as  follows  : 

"$250  REWARD. 

"Ran  away  from  the  subscriber,  on  Monday,  November  12tii,  liia 
mulatto  man,  Sam.  Said  boy  is  stout-built,  five  feet  nine  inches 
high,  31  years  old,  vreighs  170  lbs.,  and  walks  very  erect,  and  with 
a  quick,  rapid  gait.  The  American  flag  is  tattooed  on  his  right 
arm  above  the  elbow.  There  is  a  knife-cut  over  the  bridge  of  Ms 
nose,  a  fresh  bullet-wound  in  his  left  thigh,  and  his  back  bears 
marks  of  a  recent  whipping.  He  is  supposed  to  have  made  his 
way  back  to  Dinwiddle  County,  A^a.,  where  he  was  raised,  or  to  be 
lurking  in  the  swamps  in  this  vicinity. 

"  The  above  reward  will  be  paid  for  his  confinement  in  any  jail 
in  North  or  South  Carolina,  or  Virginia,  or  for  his  dehvery  to  the 
subscriber  on  his  plantation  at  . 

" ,  December  2,  1860." 

The  name  sioined  to  this  hand-bill  was  that  of  the 
planter  I  was  about  to  ^-isit. 

Scip  having  returned,  and  reported  the  stream  forda- 
ble  to  the  bridge,  I  said  to  him,  pointing  to  the  "  notice :" 

"  Read  that,  Scip." 

He  read  it,  but  made  no  remark. 

"  What  does  it  mean — that  fresh  bullet  wound,  and 
the  marks  of  a  recent  whipping  ?"  I  asked. 

"  It  mean,  massa,  dat  de  darky  hab  run  away,  and 
ben  took ;  and  dat  when  dey  took  him  dey  shot  him, 
and  flogged  him  arter  dat.  Xow,  he  hab  run  away 
agin.     De  Gunnel's  mighty  hard  on  his  niggas  !" 


POOR   WHITES.  85 

"  Is  lie  ?     I  can  scarcely  believe  that." 

"  He  am,  massa ;  but  he  arnt  so  much  to  blame, 
nuther ;  cley'm  awful  bad,  most  ob  'em — so  dey 
say." 

Our  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  our  reach- 
ing the  bridge.  After  safely  "  walking  the  plank,"  and 
making  our  way  to  the  opposite  bank,  I  resumed  it 
by  asking : 

"  Why  are  the  Colonel's  negroes  so  particularly 
bad  ?" 

"  'Cause,  you  see,  massa,  de  turpentime  business  hab 
made  great  profits  for  sum  yars  now,  and  de  Cunnel 
hab  been  gettin'  rich  bery  fass.  He  put  all  his 
money,  jes  so  fass  as  he  make  it,  into  darkies,  so  to 
make  more  ;  for  he's  got  bery  big  plantation,  and  need 
nuffin'  but  darkies  to  w^ork  it  to  make  money  jess  Hke  a 
gold  mine.  He  goes  up  to  Yirgimiy  to  buy  niggas; 
and  up  dar  noio  dey  don't  sell  none  less  dey'm  bad  uns, 
'cep  when  sum  massa  die  or  git  pore.  Yirginny  darkies 
dat  cum  down  har  aint  gin'rally  ob  much  accoimt. 
Dey'm  either  kinder  good-for-nuffin,  or  dey'm  ugly ; 
and  de  Cunnel  'd  ruther  hab  de  ugly  dan  de  no-account 


ni<2:sas." 


"  How  many  negroes  has  he  ?" 

"'Bout  two  hundred,  men  and  wimmin,  I  b'lieve, 


massa." 


"  It  can't  be  pleasant  for  his  family  to  remain  in  such 
an  out-of-the-way  place,  with  so  bad  a  gang  of  negroes 
about  them,  and  no  white  people  near." 


86  AMONG   THE   PINES 

"  Xo,  massa,  not  in  dese  times ;  but  de  nussus  and 
de  young  lady  arnt  dar  now." 

"  ISTot  there  now  ?  The  Colonel  said  nothing  to  ine 
about  that.     Are  you  sure  ?" 

"  Oh  yas,  massa ;  I  seed  'em  gwo  off  on  de  boat  to 
Charles'n  most  two  weeks  ago.  Dey  don't  mean  to 
cum  back  till  tings  am  more  settled ;  dey'm  'fraid  to 
stay  dar." 

"AYould  it  be  safe  for  the  Colonel  there,  if  a  dis- 
turbance broke  out  among  the  slaves." 

"  'T  wouldn't  be  safe  den  any  whar,  sar  ;  but  de  Cun- 
nel  am  a  bery  brave  man.  He'm  better  dan  twenty  of 
his  niggas." 

"  Why  better  than  twenty  of  his  niggers  ?" 

"  'Cause  dem  ugly  niggas  am  gin'rally  cowards.  De 
darky  dat  is  quiet,  'spectful,  and  does  his  duty,  am  de 
brave  sort ;  deyHl  fight,  massa,  till  dey'm  cut  down." 

We  had  here  reached  a  turn  in  the  road,  and  passing 
it,  came  suddenly  upon  a  coach,  attached  to  which  were 
a  pair  of  magnificent  grays,  diiven  by  a  darky  in  hvery. 

"  Hallo,  dar !"  said  Scip  to  the  driver,  as  we  came 
nearly  abreast  of  the  carriage.  *'  Am  you  Cunnel 
J 's  man  ?" 

"  Yas,  I  is  dat,"  replied  the  darky. 

At  this  moment  a  woolly  head,  which  I  recognized  at 
once  as  that  of  the  Colonel's  man  "  Jim,"  was  thrust 
from  the  window  of  the  vehicle. 

"  Hallo,  Jim,"  I  said.  "  How  do  you  do  ?  I'm  glad 
to  see  you." 


POOR   WHITES.  87 

"Lor  bress  me,  Massa  K ,  am  dat  you?"  ex- 
claimed the  astonished  negro,  hastily  opening  the  door, 
and  cominsr  to  me.  "  AYhar  did  you  cum  from?  Pse 
mighty  glad  to  see  you ;"  at  the  same  time  giving  my 
hand  a  hearty  shakmg.  I  must  here  say,  in  justice  to 
the  reputation  of  South  Carolina,  that  no  respectable 
Carolinian  refuses  to  shake  hands  with  a  black  man, 
unless — the  black  happens  to  be  free. 

*'  I  thought  I  would'nt  wait  for  you,"  I  replied. 
"  But  how  did  you  expect  to  get  on  ?  the  '  runs'  have 
swollen  into  rivers." 

"  We  got  a  '  flat'  made  for  dis  one — it's  down  by 
dis  time — de  oders  we  tought  we'd  get  ober  sum- 
how." 

"  Jim,  this  is  Scip,"  I  said,  seeing  the  darkies  took 
no  notice  of  each  other. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Scipio  .^"  said  Jim,  extending  his 
hand  to  him.  A  look  of  singular  intelligence  passed 
over  the  faces  of  the  two  negroes  as  their  hands  met ;  it 
vanished  in  an  mstant,  and  was  so  shght  tliat  none  but 
a  close  observer  would  have  detected  it,  but  some  words 
that  Scip  had  previously  let  drop  had  put  me  on  the 
alert,  and  I  felt  sure  it  had  a  hidden  significance. 

"  Wont  you  get  into  de  carriage,  massa  ?"  inquired 
Jim. 

"  Ko,  thank  you,  Jim.  I'll  ride  on  with  Scip.  Our 
horse  is  jaded,  and  you  had  better  go  ahead." 

Jim  mounted  the  driver's  seat,  turned  the  carriage, 
0nd  drove  off  at  a  brisk  pace  to  announce  our  coming 


88  A:iiOXG    THE    FIXES. 

at  tlie  plantation,  wliile  Scip  and  I  rode  on  at  a  slower 
gait. 

"  Scip,  did  you  know  Jim  before  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Ilab  seed  him  afore,  massa,  but  neber  know'd  him." 

"  How  is  it  that  you  have  lived  in  Georgetown  five 
years,  and  have  not  known  him  ?" 

"  I  cud  hab  know'd  him,  massa,  good  many  time,  ef 
I'd  hked,  but  darkies  hab  to  be  careful." 

"  Careful  of  what  ?" 

"  Careful  ob  who  dey  knows  ;  good  many  bad  niggas 
'bout." 

"  Pshaw,  Scip,  you're  '  coming  de  possum ;'  there 
isn't  a  better  nio-o-er  than  Jim  in  aU  South  Carohna.  I 
know  him  well." 

"  P'raps  he  am  ;  reckon  he  am  a  good  'nufi*  nigga." 

"  Good  enough  nigga,  Scip  !  Why,  I  tell  you  he's  a 
splendid  fellow  ;  just  as  true  as  steel.  He's  been  North 
with  the  Colonel,  often,  and  the  Abolitionists  have  tried 
to  get  him  away ;  he  knew  he  could  go,  but  wouldn't 
Dudge  an  inch." 

"  I  knew  he  wouldn't,"  said  the  darky,  a  pleasurable 
gleam  passing  through  his  eyes ;  "  dat  sort  don't  run  ; 
dey  face  de  music !" 

"  Y/liy  don't  they  run  ?  What  do  you  mean  by 
facing  the  music  ?" 

"  JSTufun'  massa — only  dey'd  ruther  stay  har." 

"  Come,  Scip,  you've  played  this  game  long  enough. 
Tell  me,  now,  what  that  look  you  gave  each  other  wben 
you  shook  hands  meant." 


pooK  werrES. 


89 


"What  look,  massa?  Oli !  I  s'pose  'twar  'cause 
we'd  "both  lieerd  ob  each  oder  afore." 

"  'Twas  more  than  that,  Scip.  Be  frank  ;  you  know 
you  can  trust  me?'' 

"  Wal,  den,  massa,"  he  rephed  hesitatingly,  adding, 
after  a  short  pause,  "  de  ole  woman  called  you  a  Yan- 
kee, sar — you  can  guess." 

"  If  I  should  guess,  't  would  be  that  it  meant  mis- 
chief P 

"  It  don't  mean  mischief,  sar,"  said  the  darky,  with  a 
tone  and  aii*  that  would  not  have  disgraced  a  Cabinet 
officer  ;  "  it  mean  only  Right  and  Justice." 

"  It  means  that  there  is  some  secret  understanding 
between  you." 

"  I  toled  you,  massa,"  he  replied,  relapsing  into  his 
usual  manner,  "  dat  de  blacks  am  aU  Freemasons.  I 
gabe  Jun  de  grip,  and  he  knowd  me.  He'd  ha  knowd 
my  name  ef  you  hadn't  toled  him." 

"  Why  would  he  have  known  yom*  name  ?" 

"  'Cause  I  gabe  de  grip,  dat  tole  him." 

"  Why  did  he  call  you  Scip^'o  ?     I  called  you  &cipP 

"  Oh  I  de  darkies  all  do  dat.  IN'obody  but  de  white 
folks  cah  me  ^cip,    I  can't  say  no. more,  massa ;  I  shud 

BEEAK   DE    OATH   EP   I    DID  !" 

"  You  have  said  enough  to  satisfy  me  that  there  is  a 
secret  league  among  the  blacks,  and  that  you  are  a  leader 
in  it.  Xow,  I  tell  you,  you'll  get  yourself  into  a  scrape. 
I've  taken  a  hking  to  you,  Scip,  and  I  should  be  very 
sorry  to  see  you  run  yourself  into  danger." 


90  AMONG   THE    PINES. 

"  I  tank  you,  massa,  from  de  bottom  ob  my  soul  I 
tank  you,"  lie  said,  as  the  tears  moistened  his  eyes. 
"  You  bery  kind,  massa ;  it  do  me  good  to  talk  wid 
you.  But  what  am  my  life  wuth?  What  am  any 
slave's  life  wuth  ?  JEf  you  loar  'me  you'd  do  like 
me  r^ 

I  could  not  deny  it,  and  I  made  no  reply. 

The  writer  is  aware  that  he  is  here  making  an  impor- 
tant statement,  and  one  that  may  be  called  in  question 
by  those  persons  who  are  accustomed  to  regard  the 
Southern  blacks  as  only  reasoning  brutes.  Tiie  great 
mass  of  them  are  but  a  httle  above  the  brutes  in  their 
habits  and  mstmcts,  but  a  large  body  are  fully  on  a  par, 
except  in  mere  book-education,  with  theii'  white  mas- 
ters. 

The  conyersation  above  recorded  is,  verbatim  et  liter- 
atim,  TRUE.  It  took  place  at  the  time  indicated,  and 
was  taken  down,  as  were  other  conversations  recorded 
in  this  book,  within  twenty-four  hours  after  its  occur- 
rence. The  name  and  the  locahty,  only,  I  have,  for  very 
evident  reasons,  disguised. 

From  this  conversation,  together  with  others,  held 
with  the  same  negro,  and  from  after  developments 
made  to  me  at  various  places,  and  at  different  times, 
extending  over  a  period  of  six  weeks,  I  became  ac- 
quainted with  the  fact  that  there  exists  among  the 
blacks  a  secret  and  wide-spread  organization  of  a  Ma- 
sonic character,  having  its  grip,  pass-word,  and  oath. 
It  has  various   c^rades  of  leaders,  who  are  comnetent 


POOR   WHITES.  91 

and  earnest  men,  and  its  ultimate  object  is  Freedom. 
It  is  quite  as  secret  and  wide-spread  as  the  order  of  the 
"  Kniglits  of  the  Golden  Circle,*'  the  kindred  league 
among  the  whites. 

This  latter  organization,  which  was  instituted  by- 
John  C.  Calhoun,  William  L.  Porcher,  and  others,  as 
far  back  as  1835,  has  for  its  sole  object  the  dissolution 
of  the  Union,  and  the  establishment  of  a  Southern  Em- 
pire— Empire  is  the  word,  not  Confederacy,  or  Repub- 
lic ;  and  it  was  solely  by  means  of  its  secret  but  power- 
ftil  machinery  that  the  Southern  States  were  plunged 
into  revolution,  in  defiance  of  the  will  of  a  majority  of 
then*  voting  population. 

Xearly  every  man  of  influence  at  the  South  (and 
many  a  pretended  Union  man  at  the  Xorth)  is  a 
member  of  this  organization,  and  sworn,  under  the  pen- 
altv  of  assassination,  to  labor  "  in  season  and  out  of 
season,  by  fair  means  and  by  foul,  at  all  times,  and  all 
occasions,"  for  the  accomplishment  of  its  object.  The 
blacks  are  bound  together  by  a  similar  oath,  and  only 
hide  their  time. 

The  knowledge  of  the  real  state  of  political  affairs 
which  the  negroes  have  acquired  through  this  organiza- 
tion is  astonishmgly  accurate ;  their  leaders  possess  every 
essential  of  leadership — except,  it  may  be,  military  skiU 
■ — and  they  are  fuUy  able  to  cope  with  the  whites. 

The  negro  v>-hom  I  call  Scipio,  on  the  day  when  Major 
Anderson  evacuated  Fort  Moultrie,  and  before  he  or  1 
knew  of  that  event,  v/liich  set  all  South  Carolina  in  a 


92  AMO^G    THE    PIXES. 

blaze,  foretold  to  me  tlie  breaking  out  of  this  war  in 
Charleston  harbor,  and  as  confidently  predicted  that  it 
would  result  in  the  freedom  of  the  slaves ! 

The  fact  of  this  organization  existing  is  not  positively 
known  (for  the  black  is  more  subtle  and  crafty  than 
any  thing  human),  but  it  is  suspected  by  many  of  the 
whites,  the  more  moderate  of  whom  are  disposed  to 
ward  off  the  impending  blow  by  some  system  of  grad- 
ual emancipation — declaring  all  black  children  born 
after  a  certain  date  free — or  by  some  other  action  that 
will  pacify  and  keep  down  the  slaves.  These  persons, 
however,  are  but  a  small  minority,  and  possess  no  polit- 
ical power,  and  the  South  is  rushing  blindly  on  to  a 
catastrophe,  which,  if  not  averted  by  the  action  of  our 
government,  will  make  the  horrors  of  San  Domhigo 
and  the  French  Revolution  grow  pale  in  history. 

I  say  the  action  of  our  government,  for  with  it  rests 
the  responsibiUty.  What  the  black  wants  is  freedom. 
Give  him  that,  and  he  will  have  no  incentive  to  insur- 
rection. K  emancipation  is  proclauned  at  the  head  ot 
our  armies — emancipation  for  all — confiscation  for  the 
slaves  of  rebels,  compensation  for  the  slaves  of  loyal 
citizens — the  blacks  will  rush  to  the  aid  of  our  troops, 
the  avenging  angel  will  pass  over  the  homes  of  the 
many  true  and  loyal  men  who  are  still  left  at  the  South, 
and  the  thunderbolts  of  this  war  will  fall  only — where 
they  should  fall — on  the  heads  of  its  blood-stained  au- 
thors. If  this  is  not  done,  after  we  have  put  down  the 
whites  we  shall  have  to  meet  the  blacks,  and  after  we 


POOR   WHITES.  95 

havB  waded  knee-deep  in  the  blood  of  botL,  we  shall 
end  the  war  where  it  began,  but  with  the  South  deso- 
lated by  fire  and  sword,  the  Xorth  impoverished  and 
loaded  down  with  an  everlasting  debt,  and  our  once 
proud,  happy,  and  glorious  country  the  by-word  and 
scorn  of  the  civilized  world. 

Slavery  is  the  very  bones,  marrow,  and  life-blood  of 
this  rebellion,  and  it  cannot  be  crushed  till  we  have 
destroyed  that  accursed  institution.  If  a  miserable 
peace  is  patched  up  before  a  death-stroke  is  given  to 
slavery,  it  will  gather  new  strength,  and  drive  freedom 
from  this  country  forever.  In  the  nature  of  things  it 
cannot  exist  in  the  same  hemisphere  with  liberty. 
Then  let  every  man  who  loves  his  country  determine 
that  if  this  war  must  needs  last  for  twenty  years,  it 
shall  not  end  until  this  root  of  all  our  pohtical  evils  is 
weeded  out  forever. 

A  short  half-hour  took  us  to  the  plantation,  where  I 
found  the  Colonel  on  the  piazza  awaiting  me.  After 
our  greeting  was  over,  noticing  my  soiled  and  rather 
dilapidated  condition,  he  inquired  where  I  had  passed 
the  night.  I  told  him,  when  he  burst  into  a  hearty  fit  of 
laughter,  and  for  .several  days  good-naturedly  bantered 
me  about  "putting  up"  at  the  most  aristocratic  hotel  in 
South  Carohna — the  "  MlQs  House." 

We  soon  entered  the  mansion,  and  the  reader  will,  I 
trust,  pardon  me,  if  I  leave  him  standing  in  its  door- way 
till  another  chapter. 


94  AilONG   THE   PINES. 


CHAPTER  y. 


ON    THE    PLANTATION. 


The  last  cliai^ter  left  the  reader  in  the  door-way  of 
the  Colonel's  mansion.  Before  entering,  we  will  linger 
there  awhile  and  survey  the  outside  of  the  premises. 

The  house  stands  where  two  roads  meet,  and,  unlike 
most  planters'  dwellings,  is  located  in  full  view  of  the 
highway.  It  is  a  rambling,  disjointed  structure,  thrown 
together  with  no  regard  to  architectural  rules,  and  yet 
there  is  a  rude  harmony  in  its  very  irregularities  that 
has  a  pleasing  eifect.  The  main  edifice,  with  a  frontage 
of  nearly  eighty  feet,  is  only  one  and  a  half  stories  high, 
and  is  overshadowed  by  a  broad  projecting  roof,  which 
somehow,  though  m  a  very  natural  way,  drops  down  at 
the  eaves,  and  forms  the  covering  of  a  piazza,  twenty 
feet  wide,  and  extending  across  the  entire  front  of  the 
house.  At  its  south-easterly  angle,  the  roof  is  truncated, 
and  made  again  to  form  a  covering  for  the  piazza,  v/hich 
there  extends  along  a  hne  of  irregular  buildings  for  sixty 
yards.  A  portion  of  the  verandah  on  this  side  behig 
enclosed,  forms  a  bowhng-alley  and  smoking-room,  two 
essential  appendages  to  a  planter's  residence.  The  whole 
structure  is  covered  with  yellow-pine  weather  boarding, 
which  in  some  former  age  was  covered  with  paint  of  a 
grayish  brown  color.     This,  in  many  places,  has  peeled 


ON    THE    rLANTATION.  95 

off  and  allowed  the  sap  to  ooze  from  the  pine,  leaving 
every  here  and  there  large  blotches  on  the  surface,  some- 
what resembhng  the  "  warts"  I  have  seen  on  the  trunks 
of  old  trees. 

The  house  is  encircled  by  grand  old  pines,  whose  tall, 
upright  stems,  soaring  eighty  and  ninety  feet  in  the  air, 
make  the  low  hamlet  seem  lower  by  the  contrast.  They 
have  stood  thfere  for  centuries,  their  rough,  shaggy  coats 
buttoned  close  to  their  chins,  and  their  long  green  locks 
wa^dng  in  the  wmd ;  but  the  long  knife  has  been  thrust 
into  their  veins,  and  their  life-blood  is  now  fast  oozing 
away. 

With  the  exception  of  the  negro  huts,  which  are  scat- 
tered at  irregular  intervals  throufrh  the  woods  in  the 
rear  of  the  mansion,  there  is  not  a  human  habitation 
within  an  hour's  ride ;  but  such  a  cosy,  inviting,  hos- 
pitable atmosphere  surrounds  the  whole  place,  that  a 
stranger  does  not  realize  he  has  happened  upon  it  in  a 
wilderness. 

The  interior  of  the  dweUing  is  in  keeping  with  the 
exterior,  though  in  the  drawing-rooms,  where  rich  fur- 
niture and  fine  paintings  actually  lumber  the  apartments, 
there  is  evident  the  lack  of  a  nice  perception  of  the  "fit- 
ness of  things,"  and  over  the  whole  hangs  a  "  dusty  air," 
which  reminds  one  that  the  Milesian  Bridget  does  not 
"flourish"  in  South  Carolina. 

I  was  met  in  the  entrance-way  by  a  taU,  fine-looking 
woman,  to  whom  the  Colonel  introduced  me  as  fol- 
lows : 


B6  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

"  Mr.  K ,  this  is  Madam  P ,  my  housekeeper ; 

she  will  try  to  make  you  forget  that  Mrs.  J is  ab- 
sent." 

After  a  few  customary  courtesies  were  exchanged,  I 
was  shown  to  a  di'essing-room,  and  with  the  aid  of 
Jim,  a  razor,  and  one  of  the  Colonel's  shirts — all  of 
mine  having  undergone  a  drenching — soon  made  a  tol- 

-3 

erably  presentable  appearance.  The  negro  then  con- 
ducted me  to  the  breakfast-room,  w^here  I  found  the 
family  assembled. 

It  consisted,  besides  the  housekeeper,  of  a  tall,  raw- 
boned,  sandy-haired  personage,  with  a  low  brow,  a  blear 
eye,  and  a  sneaking  look — the  overseer  of  the  planta- 
tion ;  and  of  a  well-mannered,  intelligent  lad — with  the 
peculiarly  erect  carriage  and  uncommon  blending  of 
good-natured  ease  and  dignity  which  distinguished  my 
host — who  was  introduced  to  me  as  the  housekeeper's 
son. 

Madam  P ,  who  presided  over  the  "  tea-things," 

was  a  person  of  perhaps  thirty-five,  but  a  rich  olive  com- 
plexion, enlivened  by  a  delicate  red  tint,  and  reheved 
by  thick  masses  of  black  hair,  made  her  appear  to  a 
casual  observer  several  years  younger.  Her  face  bore 
vestiges  of  great  beauty,  which  time,  and,  perhaps,  care, 
liad  mellowed  but  not  obliterated<,and  her  conversation 
indicated  high  cultivation.  She  had  evidently  mingled 
in  refined  society  in  this  country  and  in  Europe,  and  it 
was  a  strange  freak  of  fortune  that  had  reduced  her  to 
a  menial  condition  in  the  family  of  a  backwoods  planter. 


ON   TnE   PLANTATION.  97 

After  some  general  conversation,  the  Colonel  remarked 
that  Ills  wife  and  daughter  would  pass  the  winter  in 
Charleston. 

"And  do  yoiL  remain  on  the  plantation?"  I  in- 
quired. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  am  needed  here,"  he  replied ;  "  but  Mad- 
am's son  is  with  my  family." 

"  Madam's  son !"  I  ^claimed  in  astonishment,  forget- 
ting in  my  surprise  that  the  lady  was  present. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  remarked,  "  my  oldest  boy  is  twenty." 

"  Excuse  me.  Madam ;  I  forgot  that  in  your  climate 
one  never  grows  old." 

"  There  you  are  wrong,  sir  ;  Pm  sure  \feel  old  when 
I  think  how  soon  my  boys  will  be  men." 

"  Not  old  yet,  Alice,"  said  the  Colonel,  in  a  singularly 
famihar  tone  ;  "  you  seem  to  me  no  older  than  when  you 
were  fifteen." 

"  You  have  been  long  acquainted,"  I  remarked,  not 
knowing  exactly  what  to  say. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  my  host,  "we  were  children  to- 
gether." 

"  Your  Southern  country.  Madam,  affords  a  fine  field 
for  young  men  of  enterprise." 

"  My  eldest  son  resides  Ld  Germany,"  replied  the  lady. 
"He  expects  to  make  that  country  his  home.  He  would 
have  passed  his  examination  at  Heidelberg  this  au- 
tumn had  not  circumstances  called  him  here." 

"  You  are  widely  separated,"  I  rephed. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  his  father  thinks  it  best,  and  I  suppose  it 


08  AAIONG   THE   PI]ST:S. 

is.     Thomas,  here,  is  to  return  with  his  brother,  and  I 
may  hve  to  see  neither  of  them  again." 

My  curiosity  was  naturally  much  excited  to  learn 
more,  but  nothing  further  being  volunteered,  and  the 
conversation  soon  turning  to  other  topics,  I  left  the  table 
with  it  unsatisfied. 

After  enjoying  a  quiet  hour  with  the  Colonel  in  the 
Bmoking-room,  he  in^dted  me  to  join  him  in  a  ride  over 
^  the  plantation.  I  gladly  assented,  and  Jim  shortly  an- 
noimced  the  horses  were  in  waiting.  That  darky,  who 
invariably  attended  his  master  when  the  latter  pro- 
ceeded from  home,  accompanied  us.  As  we  were 
mounting  I  bethought  me  of  Scip,  and  asked  where  he 
was. 

"  He'm  gTNTQe  to  gwo,  massa,  and  want  to  say  good- 
by  to  you." 

It  seemed  madness  for  Scip  to  start  on  a  journey  of 
seventy  miles  without  rest,  so  I  requested  the  Colonel 
to  let  hun  remain  till  the  next  day.  He  cheerfully  as- 
sented, and  sent  Jim  to  find  him.  AYhile  waiting  for 
the  darky,  I  spoke  of  how  faithfully  he  had  served  me 
during  my  journey. 

"  He's  a  splendid  nigger,"  repHed  the  Colonel ;  "  worth 
his  weight  in  gold.  K  afiliirs  were  more  settled  I  would 
buy  him."  t 

*'  But  Colonel  A tells  me  he  is  too  inteUigent. 

He  objects  to  '  knowing'  niggers." 

"  J  do  not,"  replied  my  host,  "  if  they  are  honest,  and 
I  would  trust  Scip  with  uncounted  gold.   Look  at  him," 


ON   THE   PLAXTATIOX.  99 

he  continuGcl,  as  the  negro  approached ;  "  were  flesh  and 
bones  ever  better  put  together  ?" 

The  darky  was  a  fine  specnnen  of  sable  humanity,  and 
I  ]-eadily  understood  why  the  practiced  eye  of  the  Col- 
onel appreciated  his  physical  deyelopments. 

"  Scip,"  I  said,  "  you  must  not  think  of  going  to-day ; 
the  Colonel  will  be  glad  to  let  you  remain  until  you  are 
fully  rested." 

"  Tank  you,  massa,  tank  you  bery  much,  but  de  ole 
man  will  spec'  me,  and  I  orter  gwo." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  old ,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  I'll 

take  care  of  him." 

"  Tank  you,  Cunnel,  den  I'll  stay  har  tiU  de  mornin'." 

Taking  a  by-path  wliich  led  through  the  forest  in  the 
rear  of  the  mansion,  we  soon  reached  a  small  stream, 
and,  following  its  course  for  a  short  distance,  came  upon 
a  turpentine  distillery,  which  the  Colonel  explained  to 
me  was  one  of  three  that  prepared  the  product  of  his 
plantation  for  market,  and  provided  for  his  family  of 
nearly  three  hundred  souls. 

It  was  enclosed,  or  rather  roofed,  by  a  rude  structure 
of  rough  boards,  which  was  open  at  the  sides,  and  sus- 
tained on  a  number  of  pine  poles  about  thirty  feet  in 
height,  and  bore  a  strong  resemblance  to  the  usual 
covering;;  of  a  Xew  Ens^land  havstack. 

Three  stout  negro  men,  divested  of  all  clothing  except^ 
ing  a  pair  of  coarse  gray  trowsers  and  a  red  shirt — it 
was  a  raw,  cold,  wintry  day — and  with  cotton  bandannas 
bound  about  their  heads,  were  "  tending  the  still."   The 


100  AMOXG   TIIE   PIKES. 

foreman  stood  od  a  raised  platform  level  v/ith  its  top, 
but  as  we  approached  very  quietly  seated  himself  on  a 
turpentine  barrel  which  a  moment  before  he  had  rolled 
over  the  mouth  of  the  boiler.  Another  negro  was  below, 
feeding  the  fire  with  "light  v/ood,"  and  a  third  was 
tending  the  trough  by  which  the  Liquid  rosin  found  its 
way  into  the  semicircle  of  rough  barrels  intended  for  its 
reception. 

"Hello,  Junius,  what  in  creation  are  you  doing  there  ?" 
asked  the  Colonel,  as  we  approached,  of  the  negro  on  the 
turpentine  barrel. 

"  Holein'  her  down,  Cunnel ;  de  ole  ting  got  a  mine 
to  blow  up  dis  mornin' ;  I'se  got  dis  barrl  up  har  to  hole 
her  down." 

"  Why,  you  everlastmg  nigger,  if  the  top  leaks  you'll 
be  blown  to  eternity  in  half  a  second." 

"  Reckon  not,  massa ;  be  barrl  and  me  kin  hole  her. 
We'U  take  de  risk." 

"  Perhaps  ^oic  will,"  said  the  Colonel,  laughing,  "  but 
I  wont.  Xigger  property  isn't  of  much  account,  but 
you're  too  good  a  darky,  June,  to  be  sent  to  the  devil 
for  a  charge  of  turpentine." 

"  Tank  you,  massa,  but  you  dun  kno'  dis  ole  ting  like 
I  do.  You  cudn't  blow  her  up  nohow;  Tse  tried  her 
afore  dis  way," 

"  Don't  you  do  it  again ;  now  mind ;  if  you  do  I'll 
make  a  white  man  of  you."  (This  I  suppose  referred  to 
a  process  of  flaying  with  a  whip ;  though  the  whip 
is  generally  thouglit  to  redden^  not  whiten^  the  negro.) 


ON   THE    rL.VNTATIOK.  101 

The  black  did  not  seem  at  all  alarmed,  for  ho  showed 
his  ivories  in  a  broad  grin  as  he  replied,  "Jess  as  you 
say,  massa;  you'se  de  boss  in  dis  shanty." 

Directing  the  fire  to  be  raked  out,  and  the  still  to 
stand  unused  until  it  was  repaii'ed,  the  Colonel  turned 
his  horse  to  go,  when  he  observed  that  the  third  negro 
was  shoeless,  and  his  feet  chapped  and  swollen  with  the 
cold.     "  Jake,"  he  said,  "  where  are  your  shoes  ?" 

"  Wored  out,  massa." 

"  Worn  out !     Why  haven't  you  been  to  me  ?" 

"  'Cause,  massa,  I  know'd  you'd  jaw ;  you  tole  me  I 
wears  'eni  out  mighty  fass." 

"  Well,  you  do,  that's  a  fact ;  but  go  to  Madam  and 
get  a  pair ;  and  you,  June,  you've  been  a  decent  nigger, 
you  can  ask  for  a  dress  for  Rosy.    How  is  httie  June?" 

"  Mighty  pore,  massa ;  de  ma'am  war  dar  lass  night 
and  dis  mornin',  and  she  reckun  he'm  gwine  to  gwo, 
sartain." 

"Sorry  to  hear  that,"  said  the  Colonel.  "I'll  go  and 
see  him.  Don't  feel  badly,  June,"  he  continued,  for  tlie 
tears  welled  up  to  the  eyes  of  the  black  man  as  he  spoke 
of  his  child ;  "  we  all  must  die." 

"I  knows  dat,  massa,  but  it  am  hard  to  hab  'em 
gwo." 

"Yes,  it  is,  June,  but  we  may  save  him.'^ 

"Ef  you  cud,  massa!  Oh,  ef  you  cud  !"  and  the  poor 
darky  covered  his  face  with  his  great  hands  and  sobbed 
like  a  child. 

We  rode  on  to  another  "  still,"  and  there  dismount 


102  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

ing,  tlie  Colonel  explained  to  me  the  process  of  gatliering 
and  manufacturing  turpentine.  The  trees  are  "boxed" 
and  "  tapped"  early  in  the  year,  while  the  frost  is  still 
in  tlie  ground.  "Boxing"  is  the  process  of  scooping  a 
ca^dty  m  the  trunk  of  the  tree  by  means  of  a  peculiarly 
shaped  axe,  made  for  the  purpose;  "  tapping"  is  scarify- 
ing the  rind  of  the  wood  above  the  boxes.  This  is  never 
done  until  the  trees  have  been  worked  one  season,  but 
it  is  then  repeated  year  after  year,  till  on  many  planta- 
tions they  present  the  marks  of  twenty  and  frequently 
thirty  annual  "  tappings,"  and  are  often  denuded  of  bark 
for  a  distance  of  thirty  feet  from  the  ground.  The  neces- 
sity for  this  annual  tapping  arises  from  the  fact  that  the 
scar  on  the  trunk  heals  at  the  end  of  a  season,  and  the 
sap  will  no  longer  run  from  it ;  a  fresh  wound  is  there- 
fore made  each  spring.  The  sap  flows  down  the  scari- 
fied surface  and  collects  in  the  boxes,  which  are  eraj^tied 
six  or  eight  times  in  a  year,  according  to  the  length  of 
the  season.  This  is  the  process  of  "  dipping,"  and  it  is 
done  with  a  tin  or  iron  vessel  constructed  to  fit  the 
cavity  in  the  tree. 

The  turpentine  gathered  from  the  newly  boxed  or 
virgin  tree  is  very  valuable,  on  account  of  its  producing 
a  peculiarly  clear  and  Avhite  rosin,' which  is  used  in  the 
manufacture  of  the  finer  kinds  of  soap,  and  by  "  Rosin 
the  Bow."  It  commands,  ordinarily,  nearly  five  times 
the  price  of  the  common  article.  "Wlien  barrelled,  the 
turpentine  is  frequently  sent  to  market  in  its  crude  state, 
but  more  often  is  distilled  on  the  plantation,  the  gath- 


ON    THE   PLANTATION.  103 

erers  generally  possessing  means  sufHcient  to  own  a 
still. 

In  tlie  process  of  distilling,  the  crude  turpentine  is 
"  dunij^ed''  into  the  boiler  through  an  opening  in  the 
top — the  same  as  that  on  which  we  saw  Junius  com» 
j)osedly  seated — water  is  then  poured  upon  it,  the  aper- 
ture made  tight  by  screwing  down  the  cover  and  pack- 
ing it  with  clay,  a  fire  built  underneath,  and  when  the 
heat  reaches  several  hundred  degrees  Fahrenheit,  the 
process  of  manufacture  begins.  The  volatile  and  more 
valuable  part  of  the  turpentine,  by  the  action  of  the 
heat,  rises  as  vapor,  then  condensing  flovv^s  off  througli 
a  pipe  in  the  top  of  the  still,  and  comes  out  spirits  of 
turpentine,  while  the  heavier  portion  finds  vent  at  a 
lower  aperture,  and  comes  out  rosin. 

No  article  of  commerce  is  so  liable  to  waste  and  leak- 
age as  turpentine.  The  spirits  can  only  be  preserved  in 
tin  cans,  or  in  thoroughly  seasoned  oak  barrels,  made 
tight  by  a  coating  of  glue  on  the  inner  side.  Though 
the  material  for  these  barrels  exists  at  the  South  in  lux- 
uriant abundance,  they  are  all  procured  from  the  ISTorth, 
and  the  closing  of  the  Southern  ports  has  now  entirely 
cut  ofi'the  supply;  for  while  the  turpentine  farmer  may 
'jnprovise  coopers,  he  can  by  no  process  give  the  oak 
timber  the  seasoning  which  is  needed  to  render  the  bar- 
rel spirit-tight.  Hence  it  is  certain  that  a  large  portion 
of  the  last  crop  of  turpentine  must  have  gone  to  waste. 
When  it  is  remembered  that  the  one  State  of  Nortli 
Carolma   exports   annually  nearly  twenty   millions   in 


104  AMONG   THE   PIXES. 

value  of  tMs  product,  and  employs  fully  two-thirds  of 
its  negroes  in  its  production,  it  will  be  seen  how  dearly 
the  South  is  paying  for  the  mad  freak  of  secession.  Put- 
ting out  of  view  his  actual  loss  of  produce,  how  does  the 
turpentine  farmer  feed  and  employ  his  negroes  ?  and 
pressed  as  these  blacks  inevitably  are  by  both  hmiger 
and  idleness,  those  proline  breeders  of  sedition,  what 
will  keep  them  quiet  ? 

"  What  effect  will  secession  have  on  your  business  ?" 
I  asked  the  Colonel,  after  a  while. 

"A  favorable  one.  I  shall  ship  my  crop  direct  to  Liv- 
erpool and  London,  instead  of  selling  it  to  iSTew  York 
middle-men." 

"  But  is  not  the  larger  portion  of  the  turpentine  crop 
consumed  at  the  ISTorth?" 

"Oh,  yes.  We  shall  have  to  deal  with  the  Yankees 
anyhow,  but  we  shall  do  as  little  with  them  as  possible." 

"Suppose  the  Yankees  object  to  your  setting  up 
by  yourselves,  and  put  your  ports  under  lock  and 
key?" 

"They  wont  do  that,  and  if  they  do,  England  will 
break  the  blockade." 

"We  may  rap  John  Bull  over  the  knuckles  in  that 
event,"  I  replied. 

"Well,  suppose  you  do;  what  then?" 

"Merely,  England  would  not  have  a  ship  in  six  months 
to  carry  your  cotton.  A  war  with  her  would  ruin  the 
shipping  trade  of  the  ISTorth.  Our  marine  would  seek 
employment   at  privateering,   and  soon    sweep   every 


ON   THE   PLANTATION.  1<)5 

British  merciiaiit  ship  from  the  ocean.  We  coidd  afford 
to  give  up  ten  years'  trade  with  you,  and  to  put  sec<^- 
sion  down  by  force,  for  the  sake  of  a  year's  brush  with 
John  BuU." 

"  But,  my  good  friend,  where  would  the  British  navy 
be  aU  this  while  ?" 

"Asleep.  The  English  haven't  a  steamer  that  can 
catch  a  Brookhaven  schooner.  The  last  war  proved 
that  government  vessels  are  no  match  for  privateers." 

"  Well,  well !  but  the  Yankees  wont  iight." 

"  Suppose  they  do.  Suppose  they  shat  up  your  ports, 
and  leave  you  with  your  cotton  and  turpentine  unsold  ? 
You  raise  scarcely  any  thing  else — what  would  you 
eat  ?" 

"  We  would  turn  our  cotton  fields  into  corn  and 
wheat.     Turpentine-makers,  of  course,  would  suffer." 

"  Then  why  are  not  you  a  Union  man  ?" 

"  My  friend,  I  have  nearly  three  hundred  mouths  to 
feed.  I  depend  on  the  sale  of  my  crop  to  give  them  food. 
If  our  ports  are  closed,  I  cannot  do  it — they  will  starve, 
and  I  be  ruined.  But  sooner  than  submit  to  the  dom- 
ination of  the  cursed  Yankees,  I  will  see  my  negroes 
starving,  and  my  child  a  beggar  !" 

At  tliis  point  in  the  conversation  we  arrived  at  the 
negro  shanty  where  the  sick  child  was.  Dismoimting, 
the  Colonel  and  I  entered. 

The  cabin  was   almost  a  counterpart  of  the  "Mills 

House,"  described  in  the  previous  chapter,  but  it  had  a 

plank  flooring,   and  was  scrupulouslv  neat  and   clean. 
5* 


106  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

Tlie  logs  were  stripped  of  bark,  and  Vv'Litewaslied.  A 
bright,  cheerful  fire  was  blazing  on  the  hearth,  and  an 
air  of  rude  comfort  pervaded  the  v/hole  interior.  On  a 
low  bed  in  the  farther  corner  of  the  room  lay  the  sick 
child.  He  was  a  boy  of  about  twelve  years,  and  evi- 
dently in  the  last  stages  of  consumption.  By  his  side, 
bendins:  over  him  >as  if  to  catch  his  ahnost  inaudible 
words,  sat  a  tidy,  youtluul-lookmg  colored  woman,  his 
mother,  and  the  wife  of  the  negro  we  had  met  at  the 
"  still."  Playing  on  the  floor,  was  a  younger  child,  per- 
haps five  years  old,  but  while  the  faces  of  the  mother 
and  the  sick  lad  were  of  the  hue  of  charcoal,  Ms  skin 
by  a  process  well  understood  at  the  South,  had  been 
bleached  to  a  bright  yellow. 

The  woman  took  no  notice  of  our  entrance,  but  the 
little  fellow  ran  to  the  Colonel  and  caught  hold  of  the 
skkts  of  his  coat  in  a  free-and-easy  way,  saying,  "  Ole 
massa,  you  got  sufiin'  for  Dicky  ?" 

"  1^0,  you  little  nig,"  replied  the  Colonel,  patting  his 
woolly  head  as  I  might  have  done  a  white  child's, 
"  Dicky  isn't  a  good  boy." 

"  Yas,  I  is,"  said  the  little  darky ;  "  you'se  ugly  ole 
massa  to  gib  nufiin'  to  Dick." 

Aroused  by  the  Colonel's  voice,  the  woman  turned 
toward  us.  Her  eyes  were  swollen,  and  her  face  bore 
traces  of  deep  emotion. 

*'  Oh  massa  !"  she  said,  "  de  chile  am  dyin' !  It'm  aU 
along  ob  his  workin'  in  de  swamp — no  man  orter  work 
dar,  let  alone  a  chile  hke  dis." 


ON    THE    PLANTATION.  107 

"  Do  you  tliink  he  is  dying,  Rosy?"  asked  tlie  Colonel, 
approaching  the  bed-side. 

"  Shore,  massa,  he'm  gwine  fass.     Look  at  'iin." 

The  boy  had  dwindled  to  a  skeleton,  and  the  skin  lay 
on  his  foce  in  crinipled  folds,  hke  a  mask  of  black  crape- 
His  eyes  were  fixed,  and  he  was  evidently  gomg. 

"Don't  you  know  massa,  my  boy  ?"  said  the  Colonel, 
taking  his  hand  tenderly  in  his. 

The  child's  lips  shghtly  moved,  but  I  could  hear  no 
soimd.  The  Colonel  put  his  ear  down  to  him  for  a  mo- 
ment, then,  turning  to  me,  said  : 

"  He  is  dying.    Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  step  to  the 

house  and  ask  Madam  P here,  and  please  tell  Jim  to 

go  for  Jimius  and  the  old  man." 

I  returned  in  a  short  while  with  the  lady,  but  found 
the  boy's  father  and  "  the  old  man" — the  darky  preacher 
of  the  plantation — there  before  us.  The  preacher  was  a 
venerable  old  negro,  much  bowed  by  years,  and  with 
thin  wool  as  white  as  snow.  When  we  entered,  he  was 
bending  over  the  dying  boy,  but  shortly  turning  to  my 
host,  said : 

"  Massa,  de  blessed  Lord  am  callin'  for  de  chile — 
shall  we  pray  ?" 

The  Colonel  nodded  assent,  and  we  all,  blacks  and 
whites,  knelt  down  on  the  floor,  while  the  old  preacher 
made  a  short,  heart-touching  prayer.  It  was  a  simple, 
humble  acknowledgment  of  the  dependence  of  the  crea- 
ture on  the  Creator — of  His  rio;ht  to  s:ive  and  to  take 

CD  O 

away,  and  was  uttered  in  a  free,  conversational  tone,  as 


108  AMOXG   THE    PmES. 

if  long  communion  with  liis  Maker  liad  placed  the  old 
negro  on  a  footing  of  friendly  fimiiiarity  with  Him,  and 
given  the  black  slave  the  right  to  talk  with  the  Deity  as 
one  man  talks  with  another. 

As  we  rose  from  our  knees  my  host  said  to  me,  "  It  is 
rtiy  duty  to  stay  here,  but  I  wiQ  not  detain  you.  Jim 
will  show  you  over  the  plantation.  I  will  join  you  at 
the  house  when  this  is  over."  The  scene  was  a  painful 
one,  and  I  gladly  availed  myself  of  the  Colonel's  sug- 
gestion. 

Mounting  our  horses,  Jim  and  I  rode  ofi"  to  the  negro 
house  where  Scip  was  sta^dng. 

Scip  was  not  at  the  cabin,  and  the  old  negro  woman 
told  us  he  had  been  away  for  several  hours. 

"  Reckon  he'll  be  'way  all  day,  sar,"  said  Jim,  as  we 
turned  oui'  horses  to  go. 

"  He  ought  to  be  resting  against  the  ride  of  to-mor- 
row.    Where  has  he  gone  ?" 

"  Dimno,  sar,  but  reckon  he'm  gwine  to  fine  Sam." 

"  Sam  ?  Oh,  he's  the  runaway  the  Colonel  has  adver- 
tised." 

"  Yas,  sar,  he'm  'way  now  more'n  a  monfh." 

"  How  can  Scip  find  him  ?" 

"  Dunno,  sar.  Scipio  know  most  ebery  ting — reckon 
he'll  track  him.  He  know  him  well,  and  Sam'll  cum 
back  ef  he  say  he  orter." 

"  Where  do  you  think  Sam  is  ?" 

"  P'raps  in  de  swamp." 

"  WTiere  is  the  swamp  ?" 


ON    THE    PLANTATION.  109 

"  'Bout  ten  mile  from  har." 

"  Oh,  yes !  the  shingles  are  cut  there.  I  should  think 
a  runaway  would  be  discovered  where  so  many  men  are 
at  Vork." 

"  ISTo,  massa,  dar'm  places  dar  whar  de  ole  debble 
cudn't  fine  him,  nor  de  dogs  nudder.'* 

"  I  thought  the  bloodhounds  would  track  a  man  any- 
where." 

"  Kot  fru  de  water,  massa ;  dey  lose  de  scent  in  de 
swamp."  • 

"  But  how  can  a  man  live  there — how  get  food  ?" 

"  De  darkies  dat  work  dar  take  'em  nufil" 

"  Then  the  other  negroes  know  where  the  runaways 
are ;  don't  they  sometimes  betray  them  ?" 

"  ISTeber,  massa ;  a  darky  neber  tells  on  anoder.  De 
Cunnel  had  a  boy  in  dat  swamp  once  good  many 
years." 

"  Is  it  possible  !     Did  he  come  back  ?" 

"  No,  he  died  dar.  Sum  ob  de  hands  found  him 
dead  one  mornin'  in  de  hut  whar  he  lib'd,  and  buried 
bun  dar." 

"  Why  did  Sam  run  away  ?" 

'"Cause  de  oberseer  flog  him.  He  use  him  bery 
hard,  massa." 

"What  had  Sam  done  ?" 

"  IsTuffin,  massa." 

"  Then  why  was  he  flogged  ?  Did  the  Colonel  know 
it?" 

"  Oh,  yas ;  Moye  cum  de  possum  ober  de  Cimnel,  and 


110  Among  the  pines. 

make  hiin  b'lieve  Sam  war  bad.     De  Gunnel  dunno  de 
hull  ob  dat  story." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  him?  The  Colonel  trusts 
you^'' 

"  'T  wudn't  hab  dun  no  good ;  de  Gunnel  wud  hab 
flogged  me  for  telliii'  on  a  wite  man.  ISTigga's  word 
amt  ob  no  account." 

"  What  is  the  story  about,  Sam  ?" 
"You  wont  tell  dat  Ztole  you,  massa ?" 
"  N'o,  but  m  tell  the  Golonel  the  truth." 
"  Wal  den,  sar,  you  see  Sam's  wife  am  bery  good- 
lookin',  her  skin's  most  wite — her  mudder  war  a  mulat- 
ter,  her  fader  a  wite  man — she  lub'd  Sam  'bout*  as  well 
as  de  wimmin  ginraUy  lub  dar  husbands"  (Jim  was  a 
bachelor,  and  his  observation  of  plantation  morals  had 
given  him  but  httle  faith  in  the  sex),  "  but  most  ob  'em, 
ef  dey'm  married  or  no,  tink  dey  must  smile  on  de  wite 
men,  so  Jule  she  smiled  on  de  oberseer — so  Sam  tought 
— and  it  made  him  bery  jealous.  He  war  sort  o'  sassy, 
and  de  oberseer  strung  him  up,  and  flog  him  bery  hard. 
Den  Sam  took  to  de  swamp,  but  he  didn't  know  whar 
to  gwo,  and  de  dogs  tracked  him ;  he'd  ha'  got  'way 
dough  ef  ole  Moye  hadn't  a  shot  him ;  den  he  cudn't 
run.  Den  Moye  flogged  him  till  he  war  'most  dead, 
and  arter  dat  chained  him  down  in  de  ole  cabin,  and 
gave  him  'most  nuflin'  to  eat.  De  Gunnel  war  gwine  to 
.take  Sam  to  Gharles'on  and  sell  him,  but  somehow  he 
got  a  file  and  sawed  fru  de  chain  and  got  'way  in  de 
nisht  to  de  '  stiU.'     Den  when  de  oberseer  come  dar  in 


ON   THE   PLANTATION.  Ill 

de  mornin',  Sam  jump  on  him  and  'most  kill  Liim.  He'd 
ban  sent  him  whar  dar  aint  no  niggas,  ef  Jmiius  hadn't 
a  holed  him.     rd  a  let  de  ole  debble  gwo." 

"  Junius,  then,  is  a  friend  of  the  overseer." 

"  iSTo,  sar ;  he  haint  no  friends,  'cep  de  debble ;  but 
June  am  a  good  nigga,  and  he  said  'twarn't  right  to  kill 
ole  Moye  so  sudden,  for  den  dar'd  be  no  chance  for  de 
Lord  to  forgib  him." 

"  Then  Sam  got  away  again  ?" 

"  Oh  yas ;  nary  one  but  darkies  war  round,  and  dey 
wouldn't  hole  him.  Ef  dey'd  cotched  him  den,  dey'd 
hung  him,  shore." 

"Why  hung  him?" 

"'Cause  he'd  struck  a  wite  man ;  it  'm  shore  death  to 
do  dat." 

"Do  you  think  Scip  will  bring  him  back?" 

"Yas;  'cause  he'm  gwine  to  tell  massa  de  hull  story. 
De  Gunnel  will  b'Heve  Scipio  ef  he  am  brack.  Sam'll 
know  dat,  so  he'll  come  back.  De  Cunnel'U  make  de 
State  too  hot  to  hole  ole  Moye,  when  he  fine  hun  out." 

"Does  Sam's  wife  'smile'  on  the  overseer  now?" 

"No;  she  see  de  trubble  she  bring  on  Sam,  and  she 
bery  sorry.     She  wont  look  at  a  wite  man  now." 

During  the  foregoing  conversation,  we  had  ridden  for 
several  miles  over  the  western  half  of  the  plantation, 
and  were  again  near  the  house.  My  Umbs  being  de- 
cidedly stiff  and  sore  from  the  effect  of  the  previous 
day's  journey,  1  decided  to  ahght  and  rest  until  the 
hour  for  dinner. 


112  AMONG  THE   PIKES. 

I  mentioned  my  jaded  condition  to  Jim,  who  said: 

"  Dat's  right,  massa ;  come  in  de  house.  I'll  cm-e  de 
rumatics ;  I  knows  how  to  fix  dem." 

Fastening  the  horses  at  the  door,  Jim  accompanied 
me  to  my  sleeping-room,  where  he  lighted  a  fire  of  pine 
knots,  which  in  a  moment  blazed  up  on  the  hearth  and 
sent  a  cheerful  glow  through  the  apartment;  then,  say- 
ing he  would  return  after  stabling  the  horses,  the  darky 
left  me. 

I  took  off  my  boots,  drew  the  sofa  near  the  fire,  and 
stretched  myself  at  full  length  upon  it.  K  ever  mortal 
was  tired,  "I  reckon"  I  was.  It  seemed  as  though  every 
joint  and  bone  in  my  body  had  lost  the  power  of  motion, 
and  sharp,  acute  pains  danced  along  my  nerves,  as  I  have 
seen  the  hghtning  play  along  the  telegraph  wires.  My 
entire  system- had  the  toothache. 

Jim  soon  returned,  bearing  in  one  hand  a  decanter  of 
"  Otard,"  and  in  the  other  a  mug  of  hot  water  and  a 
crash  towel. 

"  I'se  got  de  stuff  dat'll  fix  de  rumatics,  massa." 

"Thank  you,  Jim;  a  glass  will  do  me  good.  Where 
did  you  get  it  ?"  I  asked,  thinking  it  strange  the  Colonel 
should  leave  his  brandy-bottle  within  reach  of  the 
negroes,  who  have  an  universal  weakness  for  spirits. 

"  Oh,  I  keeps  de  keys;  de  Gunnel  hissef  hab  to  come 
to  me  when  he  want  suffin'  to  warm  hissef." 

It  was  the  fact ;  Jim  had  exclusive  charge  of  the  wine- 
cellar;  in  short,  was  butler,  barber,  porter,  footman,  and 
body-servant,  all  combined. 


ON   THE   PLANTATION.  113 

"Kow,  massa,  you  lay  right  whar  you  is,  and  I'll 
make  you  ober  new  in  less  dan  no  time." 

And  he  did ;  but  I  emptied  the  brandy-bottle.  Lest 
my  temperance  friends  should  be  horror-stricken,  I  will 
mention,  however,  that  I  took  the  fiuid  by  external  ab- 
sorption. For  all  rheumatic  sufferers,  I  would  prescribe 
hot  brandy,  in  plentiful  doses,  a  coarse  towel,  and  an 
active  Southern  darky,  and  if  on  the  first  apphcation  the 
patient  is  not  cured,  the  fault  will  not  be  the  negro's. 
Out  of  mercy  to  the  chivalry,  I  hope  our  government, 
in  saving  the  Union,  will  not  annihilate  the  order  of 
body-servants.  They  are  the  only  perfect  institution  in 
the  Southern  country,  and,  so  far  as  I  have  seen,  about 
the  only  one  worth  saving. 

The  dinner-bell  sounded  a  short  while  after  Jim  had 
finished  the  scrubbing  operation,  and  I  went  to  the  table 
with  an  appetite  I  had  not  felt  for  a  week.  My  whole 
system  was  rejuvenated,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  I  should, 
at  that  moment,  have  declined  a  vfrestling  match  with 
Heenan  himself. 

I  found  at  dinner  only  the  overseer  and  the  young  son 

of  Madam  P ,  the  Colonel  and  the  lady  being  still  at 

the  cabin  of  the  dying  boy.  The  dinner,  though  a  queer 
mixtm-e  of  viands,  would  not  have  disgraced,  except, 
perhaps,  in  the  cooking,  the  best  of  our  I^orthern  hotels. 
Venison,  bacon,  wild  fowl,  hominy,  poultry,  corn  bread, 
French  "made-dishes,"  and  Southern  "common  doin's," 
with  wines  and  brandies  of  the  choicest  brands,  were 
placed  on  the  table  together. 


114:  AMONG    THE    PINES. 

"Dis,  massa,"  said  Jim,  "am  de  raal  juice;  it  hab  been 
in  de  cellar  eber  since  de  house  war  built.  Massa  tole 
me  to  gib  you  some,  wid  him  complimen'fr." 

Passing  it  to  my  companions,  I  drank  the  Colonel's 
health  in  as  fine  wine  as  I  ever  tasted. 

I  had  taken  an  instinctive  dislike  to  the  overseer  at 
the  breakfast-table,  and  my  aversion  was  not  lessened 
by  learning  his  treatment  of  Sam;  curiosity  to  know 
what  manner  of  man  he  was,  however,  led  me,  toward 
the  close  of  our  meal,  to  "draw  him  out,"  as  follows: 

"What  is  the  pohtical  sentiment,  sir,  of  this  section 
of  the  State?" 

"Wal,  I  reckon  most  of  the  folks  'bout  har'  is  Union; 
they'm  from  the  'old  North,'  and  gm'raUy  pore  trash." 

"I  have  heard  that  the  majority  of  the  turpentine- 
farmers  are  enterprising  men  and  good  citizens — more 
enterprising,  even,  than  the  cotton  and  rice  planters." 

"Wal,  they  is  enterprisin',  'cause  they  don't  keer  for 
nuthin'  'cep'  money." 

"The  man  who  is  absorbed  in  money-getting  is  gen- 
erally a  quiet  citizen." 

"P'raps  that's  so.  But  I  think  a  man  sh'u'd  hev  a 
Eoul  suthin'  'bove  dollars.  Them  folks  will  take  any 
Bort  o'  sarce  from  the  Yankees,  ef  they'll  only  buy  thar 
truck." 

"What  do  you  suffer  from  the  Yankees?" 

"Suffer  from  the  Yankees?  Don't  they  steal  our 
niggers,  and  haint  they  'lected  an  ab'lishener  for  Presi- 
dent?" 


ON   THE    TLANTATION.  115 

"  I've  been  at  the  Xortli  lately,  but  I  am  not  aware 
that  is  so." 

"So!  it's  damnably  so,  sii\  I  knows  it.  We  don't 
mean  to  stand  it  eny  longer." 

"What  will  you  do?" 

"We'll  give  'em  h— 1,  ef  they  want  it !" 

"Will  it  not  be  necessary  to  agree  among  yourselves 
before  you  do  that  ?  I  met  a  turpentine  farmer  below 
here  who  openly  declared  that  he  is  friendly  to  abolish- 
ing slavery.  He  thmks  the  masters  can  make  more 
money  by  hu'ing  than  by  owning  the  negroes." 

"Yes,  that's  the  talk  of  them  Xorth  County*  fellers, 
who've  squatted  round  har.  We'll  hang  every  mother's 
son  on  'em,  by ." 

"I  wouldn't  do  that:  in  a  free  country  every  man  has 
a  right  to  his  opinions." 

"Xot  to  sech  opinions  as  them.  A  man  may  think, 
but  he  mustn't  tliink  onraasonable." 

"  I  don't  know,  but  it  seems  to  me  reasonable,  that  if 


*  The  "North  Counties"  are  the  north-eastern  portion  of  North  Carolina,  and 
include  the  towns  of  Washington  and  Newbern.  They  are  an  old  turpentine 
region,  and  the  trees  are  nearly  exhausted.  The  finer  virgin  forests  of  South 
Carolina,  and  other  cotton  States,  have  tempted  many  of  the  North  County 
farmers  to  emigrate  thither,  ■within  the  past  ten  .years,  and  they  now  own  nearly 
all  the  trees  that  are  worked  in  South  Carolina,  Georgia,  and  Florida.  They  gen- 
erally have  few  slaves  of  their  own,  their  hands  being  hired  of  wealthier  men  in 
their  native  districts.  The  "hiring"  is  an  annual  operation,  and  is  done  at  Christ- 
mas time,  when  the  negroes  are  frequently  allowed  to  go  home.  They  treat  the 
slaves  well  give  them  an  allowance  of  meat  (salt  pork  or  beef),  as  much  corn  as 
they  can  eat,  and  a  gill  of  whiskey  daily.  No  class  of  men  at  the  South  is  so 
industrious,  energetic,  and  enterprising,  lliough  not  so  well  informed,  they  have 
many  of  the  traits  of  our  Ne  k  England  farmers;  in  fact,  are  frequently  called 
"North  Carolina  Yankees."  It  was  these  people  the  overseer  proposed  to  hang. 
The  reader  v,  ill  doubtless  think  that  "  hanging  was  not  good  enough  for  them." 


116  AMONG   THE   VUiES. 

the  RCgroGS  cost  tliwe  farmers  now  one  liundred  and 
fifty  dollars  a  year,  and  they  conld  hire  them,  if  free,  for 
seventy-five  or  a  hmidred,  that  they  would  make  by 
abohtion." 

"Ab'hsh'n!  By  — ,  sir,  ye  aint  an  ab'lishener,  is  ye?" 
exclaimed  the  fellow,  in  an  excited  manner,  bringing  his 
hand  down  on  the  table  in  a  way  that  set  the  crockery 
a-dancing. 

"  Come,  come,  my  friend,"  I  rephed,  in  a  mild  tone, 
and  as  nnrufSed  as  a  pool  of  water  that  has  been  out  of 
a  December  night ;  "  you'll  knock  off  the  dinner  things, 
and  I'm  not  quite  through." 

"  Wal,  SU-,  I've  heerd  yer  from  the  Korth,  and  I'd  like 
to  know  if  yer  an  ab'lishener." 

"  My  dear  sir,  you  surprise  me.  You  certainly  can't 
expect  a  modest  man  hke  me  to  speak  of  himself." 

"Ye  can  speak  of  what  ye  d — please,  but  ye  can't 
talk  ab'lish'n  har,  by  — ,"  he  said,  again  applying  his 
hand  to  the  table,  till  the  plates  and  saucers  jumped  up, 
performed  several  jigs,  then  several  reels,  and  then  rolled 
over  in  graceful  somersaults  to  the  floor. 

At  this  juncture,   the  Colonel    and   Madam    P 

entered. 

Observing  the  fall  in  his  crockery,  and  the  general 
confusion  of  things,  my  host  quietly  asked,  "TV^jat's 
to  pay  ?" 

I  said  nothing,  but  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter  at  tlie 
awkward  predicament  of  the  overseer.  That  gentleman 
also  said  nothing,  but  looked  as  if  he  would  hke  to  fiud 


ON   THE    PLANTATION.  117 

vent  through  a  rat-hole  or  a  window-pane.  Jim,  how- 
ever, who  stood  at  the  back  of  my  chair,  gave  his  elo- 
quent thoughts  utterance,  very  niuch  as  follows  : 

"Moye  hab  'suited  Massa  K ,  Gunnel,  awful  bad. 

He  hab  swore  a  blue  streak  at  him,  and  called  him  a 

d —  ab'hshener,  jess  'cause  Massa  K wudn't  get  mad 

and  sass  him  back.  He  hab  disgrace  your  hosspital, 
Cumiel,  wuss  dan  a  nigga." 

The  Colonel  turned  white  with  rage,  and  striding  up 
to  Moye,  seized  him  by  the  throat,  yelling,  rather  than 

speaking,  these  words  :  "You  d 

,  have  you  dared  to  insult  a  guest  in  my  house?" 


"I  did'nt  mean  to  'suit  him,"  faltered  out  the  overseer, 
his  voice  running  through  an  entire  octave,  and  chang- 
ing v/ith  the  varying  pressure  of  the  Colonel's  fingers 
on  his  throat ;  "  but  he  said  he  war  an  ab'hshener." 

"  Xo  matter  what  he  said,  he  is  my  guest,  and  in  my 
house  he  shall  say  what  he  pleases,  by  — .  Apologize  to 
him,  or  I'll  send  you  to  h —  in  a  second." 

The  fellow  turned  criugingly  to  me,  and  gi'ound  out 
something  hke  this,  every  word  seeming  to  give  him  the 
face-ache : 

"  I  meant  no  offence,  sar ;  I  hope  ye'll  excuse  me." 

This  satisfied  me,  but,  before  I  could  reply,  the  Colonel 
agaiu  seized  him  by  the  throat  and  yelled : 

"]!^one  of  your  sulkiness;  you  d —  white-hvered  hound, 
ask  the  gentleman's  pardon  hke  a  man." 

The  fellow  then  got  out,  with  less  effort  than  before: 

"  I  'umbly  ax  yer  pardon,  sar,  very  'umbly,  indeed." 


118  AMONG    THE    TINES. 

"  I  am  satisfied,  sir,"  I  replied.  "  I  bear  you  no  ill- 
wilJ." 

"  N'ow  go,"  said  the  Colonel ;  "  and  in  future  take 
your  meals  in  your  cabin.  I  have  none  but  gentlemen 
at  my  table." 

The  fellow  went.  As  soon  as  he  closed  the  door,  the 
Colonel  said  to  me : 

"  Xow,  my  dear  friend,  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me  for 
this  occurrence.  I  sincerely  regret  you  have  been  in- 
sulted in  my  house." 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,  my  dear  sir ;  the  fellow  is  igno- 
rant, and  really  thinks  I  am  an  abohtionist.  His  zeal 
in  politics  led  to  his  warmth.  I  blame  him  very  lit- 
tle," I  replied. 

"But  he  lied,  Massa  K ,"  chimed  in  Jim,  veiy 

warmly ;  "  you  neber  said  you  war  an  ab'lishener." 

"  You  know  what  they  are,  Jim,  don't  you  ?"  said  the 
Colonel,  laughing,  and  taking  no  notice  of  his  breach  of 
decorum  in  wedging  black  ideas  into  a  white  conver- 
sation. 

"  Yas,  I  does  dat,"  said  the  darky,  grinning. 

"  Jim,"  said  his  master,  "  you're  a  prince  of  a  nigger, 
but  you  talk  too  much  ;  ask  me  for  something  to-day,  and 
I  reckon  you'll  get  it ;  but  go  now,  and  tell  Chloe  (the 
cook)  to  get  us  some  dinner." 

The  negro  left,  and,  excusing  myself,  I  soon  followed 
suit. 

I  went  to  my  room,  laid  down  on  the  lounge,  and  soon 
fell   asleep.     It  was  nearly  five  o'clock   when  a  sfight 


ON    THE    TLAI^TATION.  119 

noise  in  the  apartment  awoke  me,  and,  looking  up,  I 
saw  the  Colonel  quietly  seated  by  the  fire,  smoking  a 
cigar.  His  feet  were  elevated  above  his  head,  and  he 
ai3peared  absorbed  in  no  very  pleasant  reflections. 

"  How  is  the  sick  boy.  Colonel  ?"  I  asked. 

"  It's  all  over  with  him,  my  friend.  He  died  easy ; 
but  'twas  very  painful  to  me ;  I  feel  I  have  done  lum 
wrong." 

"How  so?" 

"  I  was  away  all  summer,  and  that  cursed  Moye  sent 
him  to  the  swamp  to  tote  for  the  shinglers.  It  killed 
him." 

"  Then  you  are  not  to  blame,"  I  replied. 

"  I  wish  I  could  feel  so." 

The  Colonel  remained  with  me  till  supper-time,  evi- 
dently  much  depressed  by  the  events  of  the  mornmg, 
which  had  aifected  him  more  than  I  should  have  thoujrht 
possible.  I  endeavored,  by  directing  his  mind  to  other 
topics,  to  cheer  him,  and  in  a  measure  succeeded. 

Wliil'e  we  were  seated  at  the  supper  table,  the  black 
cook  entered  from  the  kitchen — a  one-story  shanty,  de- 
tached from,  and  in  the  rear  of  the  house — and,  with  a 
face  expressive  of  every  conceivable  emotion  a  negro  can 
feel — -joy,  sorrow,  wonder,  and  fear  all  combined — ex- 
claimed, "  O  massa,  massa !  dear  massa !  Sam,  O  Sam !" 

"  Sam !"  said  the  Colonel ;  "  what  about  Sam  ?" 

"Why,  he  hab — dear,  dear  massa,  don't  yer,  don't  yer 
liurt  him — he  hab  come  back !" 

If  a  bombshell  had  fallen  in  tlie  room,  a  greater  sen- 


120  AMONG   THE    PINES. 

Bation  could  not  have  "been  produced.  Every  individual 
arose  from  the  table,  and  the  Colonel,  striding  u])  and 
down  the  apartment,  exclaimed : 

"  Is  he  mad  ?  The  everlasting  fool !  Why  in  h—  has 
he  come  back  ?" 

"  Oh,  don't  ye  hurt  him  massa,"  said  the  black  cook, 
wringhig  her  hands.  "  Sam  hab  been  bad,  bery  bad,  but 
he  won't  be  so  no  more." 

"  Stop  your  noi^e,  aunty,"  said  the  Colonel,  but  with  no 
harshness  in  his  tone.     "  I  shall  do  what  I  think  ris-ht." 

"  Send  for  him,  David,"  said  Madame  P ;  "  let  us 

hear  what  he  has  to  say.  He  would  not  come  back  if  he 
meant  to  be  ugly." 

''^  Send  for  him,  Alice!"  repHed  my  host.  "He's 
prouder  than  Lucifer,  and  would  send  me  word  to  come 
to   kijn.      I   will   go.     Will   you   accompany  me,   Mr. 

K ?     You'll  hear  what  a  runaway  nigger  thinks  of 

slavery :  Sam  has  the  gift  of  speech,  and  uses  it  regard- 
less of  persons." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I'll  go  Tv-ith  pleasure."^ 

It  was  about  an  hour  after  nightfall  when  we  emerged 
fi'om  the  door  of  the  mansion  and  took  our  way  to  the 
negro  quarters.  The  full  moon  had  risen  half  way  above 
the  horizon,  and  the  dark  pines  cast  their  shadows 
around  the  little  collection  of  negro  huts,  which  strag- 
gled about  through  the  woods  for  the  distance  of  a  third 
of  a  mile.  It  was  dark,  but  I  could  distinguish  the  fig- 
ure of  a  man  striding  along  at  a  rapid  pace  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  in  advance  of  us. 


ON   THE   PLANTATION.  121 

"  Is'nt  that  Moye  ?"  I  asked  the  Colonel,  directing  his 
attention  to  the  recediusc  fisrure. 

"  I  reckon  so  ;  that's  his  gait.  He's  had  a  lesson  to- 
day that'll  do  him  good." 

"  I  don't  like  that  man's  looks,"  I  replied,  carelessly ; 
"  but  I've  heard  of  singed  cats." 

"  He  is  a  sneaking  d — 1,"  said  the  Colonel ;  "  but  he's 
very  valuable  to  me.  I  never  had  an  overseer  who  got 
60  much  work  out  of  the  hands." 

"  Is  he  severe  with  them  ?" 

"  Well,  I  reckon  he  is ;  but  a  nigger  is  like  a  dog — 
yon  must  flog  him  to  make  him  hke  you." 

"  I  judge  your  niggers  haven't  been  flogged  into  liking 
Moye." 

"Why,  have  you  heard  any  of  them  speak  of  him?" 

"  Yes ;  though,  of  course,  I've  made  no  effort  to  draw 
gossip  from  them.     I  had  to  hear." 

"  O  yes  ;  I  know ;  there's  no  end  to  their  gabble ;  nig- 
gers will  talk.     But  what  have  you  heard  ?" 

*'  That  Moye  is  to  blame  in  this  affair  of  Sam,  and  that 
you  don't  know  the  whole  story." 

"  What  is  the  whole  story  ?"  he  asked,  stopping  short 
in  the  road  ;  "  tell  me  before  I  see  Sam." 

I  then  told  him  what  Jim  had  recounted  to  me.  He 
heard  me  through  attentively,  then  laughiugly  exclaimed : 

"  Is  that  all !     Lord  bless  you,  he  didn't  seduce  her. 

There's  no  seducing  these  women;  with  them  it's  a 

thing  of  course.   It  was  Sam's  d —  high  blood  that  made 

the  trouble.     His  father  was  the  proudest  man  in  Yir- 

6 


122  AilONG   TEE   PINES. 

ginia,  and  Sam  is  as  like  him  as  a  nigger  can  be  like  a 
white  man." 

"  No  matter  what  the  blood  is,  it  seems  to  me  such  an 
injury  justifies  revenge." 

"  Pshaw,  my  good  fellow,  you  don't  know  these  peo- 
ple. I'll  stake  my  plantation  against  a  glass  of  whiskey 
there's  not  a  idrtuous  woman  with  a  drop  of  black  blood 
in  her  veins  in  all  South  Carolina.  They  prefer  the  white 
men ;  their  husbands  know  it,  and  take  it  as  a  matter  of 
course." 

We  had  here  reached  the  negro  cabin.  It  was  one  of 
the  more  remote  of  the  collection,  and  stood  deep  in  the 
woods,  an  enormous  pine  growing  up  dii'ectly  beside 
the  doorway.  In  all  respects  it  was  Hke  the  other  huts 
on  the  plantation.  A  bright  fire  ht  up  its  interior,  and 
through  the  crevices  in  the  logs  we  saw,  as  we  ap- 
proached, a  scone  that  made  us  pause  involuntarily, 
when  within  a  few  rods  of  the  house.  The  mulatto  man, 
whose  clothes  were  torn  and  smeared  with  swamp  mud, 
stood  near  the  fire.  On  a  smaU  pine  table  near  him  lay 
a  large  carving-knife,  which  glittered  in  the  blaze,  as  if 
recently  sharpened.  His  wife  was  seated  on  the  side  of 
the  lov/  bed  at  his  back,  weeping.  She  was  two  or  three 
shades  lighter  than  the  man,  and  had  the  pecuHar  brown, 
kinky  hair,  straight,  flat  nose,  and  speckled,  gray  eyes 
which  mark  the  metif.  Totthng  on  the  floor  at  the  feet 
of  the  man,  and  caressing  his  knees,  was  a  child  of  per- 
haps two  years. 

As  we  ncared  the  house,  we  heard  the  voice  of  the 


ON    THE   PLANTATION.  323 

overseer  issuiug  from  the  doorway  on  the  other  side  of 
the  i^ine-tree. 

"  Come  out,  ye  black  rascal." 

"  Come  iu,  you  wite  hound,  ef  you  dar,"  responded 
the  negro,  laying  his  hand  on  the  carving-knife. 

"  Come  out,  I  till  ye ;  I  sha'n't  ax  ye  agin." 

'TU  hab  nulSn'  to  do  wid  you.  GVay  and  send 
your  massa  har,"  rephed  the  mulatto  man,  turning  his 
face  away  Avith  a  lordly,  contemptuous  gesture,  that 
spoke  him  a  true  descendant  of  Pocahontas.  This  move- 
ment exposed  his  left  side  to  the  doorway,  outside  of 
vrhich,  hidden  from  us  by  the  tree,  stood  the  overseer. 

"  Come  away,  Moye,"  said  the  Colonel,  advancing 
with  me  toward  the  door ;  "  Fll  speak  to  him." 

Before  all  of  the  words  had  escaped  the  Colonel's  hps, 
a  streak  of  fire  flashed  from  where  the  overseer  stood, 
and  took  the  direction  of  the  neg:ro.  One  lono;,  wild 
shriek — one  quick,  convulsive  bound  in  the  air — and 
Sam  fell  hfeless  to  the  floor,  the  dark  life-stream  pouring 
from  liis  side.  The  httle  child  also  fell  with  him,  and 
its  greasy,  gra^dsh  shirt  v.^as  dyed  with  its  father's  blood. 
Moye,  at  the  distance  of  ten  feet,  had  discharged  the 
two  barrels  of  a  heavily-loaded  shot-gun  directly  through 
the  nei^ro's  heart. 

"You  incarnate  son  of  h — ,"  yelled  the  Colonel,  as  he 
sprang  on  the  overseer,  bore  him  to  the  gi'ound,  and 
wrenched  the  shot-o-un  from  his  hand.  Clubbincr  the 
weapon,  he  raised  it  to  brain  him.  The  movement  oc- 
cupied but  a  second ;  the  gun  was  descending,  and  in 


124  AMOXG   TilE   PmES. 

anotlier  instant  Moye  would  have  met  Sam  in  eternity, 
had  not  a  brawny  arm  caught  the  Colonel's,  and,  wind- 
ing itself  around  his  body,  pinned  his  limbs  to  his  side 
so  that  motion  was  impossible.  The  woman,  half  frantic 
with  excitement,  thrust  open  the  door  when  her  hus- 
band fell,  and  the  light  which  came  through  it  revealed 
the  face  of  the  new-comer.  But  his  voice,  which  rang 
out  on  the  night  air  as  clear  as  a  bugle,  had  there  been 
no  light,  would  have  betrayed  him.  It  was  Scip.  Spurn- 
ing the  prostrate  overseer  with  his  foot,  he  shouted : 

"Run,  you  wite  debblt   run  for  your  life !" 

"Let  me  go,  you  black  scoundrel,"  shrieked  the  Col- 
onel, wild  with  rage. 

"  When  he'm  out  ob  reach,  you'd  kill  him,"  replied 
the  negro,  as  cool  as  if  he  was  doing  an  ordinary  thing. 

"  I'll  kill  you,  you  black  —  hound,  if  you  don't  let  me 
go,"  again  screamed  the  Colonel,  struggling  violently  in 
the  negro's  grasp,  and  literally  foaming  at  the  mouth. 

"  I  shan't  lef  yon  gwo,  Cunnel,  till  you  *gree  not  to 

do  dat." 

The  Colonel  was  a  stout,  athletic  man,  in  the  very 
prime  of  life,  and  his  rage  gave  him  more  than  his  ordi- 
nary strength,  but  Scip  held  him  as  I  might  have  held  a 

child. 

"  Here,  Jim,"  shouted  the  Colonel  to  his  body-servant, 
who  just  then  emerged  from  among  the  trees,  " 'rouse 
the  plantation—shoot  this  d—  nigger." 

"  Dar  aint  one  on  'em  wud  touch  him,  massa.  He'd 
send  me  to  de  debble  wid  one  fisL" 


•  ON   THE   PLANTATION.  125 

*'  You  ungrateful  dog,"  groaned  liis  master*     "  Mr. 

K ,  will  you  stand  by  and  see  me  handcuffed  by  a 

miserable  slave  ?" 

"  The  black  means  well,  my  friend  ;  he  has  saved  you 
from  murder.  Say  he  is  safe,  and  I'll  answer  for  his 
being  away  in  an  hour." 

The  Colonel  made  one  more  ineffectual  attempt  to  free 
himself  from  the  vice-Uke  grip  of  the  negro,  then  relax- 
ing his  efforts,  and,  gathermg  his  broken  breath,  he  said, 
"You're  safe  noio^  but  if  you're  found  within  ten  miles 
of  my  plantation  by  sunrise,  by  —  )  ')u're  a  dead  man." 

The  negro  relmquished  his  hold,  and,  without  saying 
a  word,  walked  slowly  away. 

"  Jim,  you  —  rascal,"  said  the  Colonel  to  that  courage- 
ous darky,  vv'ho  Avas  skulking  off",  "  raise  every  nigger 
on  the  plantation,  catch  Moye,  or  I'll  flog  you  within  an 
inch  of  your  life." 

"  I'll  do  dat,  Cunnel ;  I'll  kotch  de  ole  debble,  ef  he's 
dis  side  de  hot  place." 

His  words  were  echoed  \)j  about  twenty  other  darkies, 
who,  attracted  by  the  noise  of  the  fracas,  had  gathered 
within  a  safe  distance  of  the  cabin.  They  went  off  with 
Jim,  to  raise  the  other  plantation  hands,  and  inaugurate 
the  hunt. 

"  If  that  —  nigger  hadn't  held  me,  I'd  had  Moye  in 
—  by  this  time,"  said  the  Colonel  to  me,  still  livid  with 
excitement. 

"  The  law  will  deal  with  him,  my  friend.  The  negro 
has  saved  you  from  murder.' 


120  _    AilONG   THE   PINES. 

"  The  law  be  d — ;  it's  too  good  for  sucli  a  —  hound ; 
and  that  the  d — -  nigger  should  have  dared  to  hold  me — 
by  —  he'll  rue  it." 

He  then  turned,  exhausted  with  the  recent  struggle, 
and,  with  a  weak,  uncertain  step,  entered  the  cabin. 
Kneehng  do^oi  by  the  dead  body  of  the  negro,  he  at- 
tempted to  raise  it;  but  his  strength  was  gone.  He 
motioned  to  me  to  aid  him,  and  we  placed  the  corpse  on 
thb  bed.  Tearing  open  the  clothing,  we  wiped  away 
the  stni  flowing  blood,  and  saw  the  terrible  wound  which 
had  sent  the  negro  to  his  account.  It  was  sickening  to 
look  en,  and  I  turned  to  go. 

The  negro  woman,  who  was  weeping  and  wringing 
her  hands,  now  approached,  and,  in  a  voice  nearly  choked 
with  SODS,  said: 

"  Massa,  oh  massa,  I  done  it !  it's  me  dat  killed  him !" 

"  I  know  you  did,  you  d .    Get  out  of  my  sight." 

"  Oh,  massa,"  sobbed  the  woman,  falling  on  her  knees, 
"  I'se  so  sorry ;  oh,  forgib  me !" 

"  Go  to  — ,  you ,  that's  the  place  for  you,"  said 

the  Colonel,  strikmg  the  kneeling  woman  with  liis  foot, 
and  felling  her  to  the  floor. 

Unwilling  to  see  or  hear  more,  I  left  the  master  with 
the  slave. 


THE    PLAXTEk's    ^*  FA:5iILY."  127 


CHAPTER  YI. 

_THE     planter's     "FAMILY." 

A  QTJAPwTEK  of  a  mile  through  the  woods  brought 
me  to  the  cabm  of  the  old  negress  where  Scip  lodged. 
I  rapped  at  the  door,  and  was  admitted  by  the  old  wo- 
man. Scip,  nearly  asleep,  was  lying  on  a  pile  of  blan- 
kets in  the  corner. 

"Are  you  mad?"  I  said  to  him.  "The  Colonel  is 
frantic  with  rage,  and  swears  he  will  kill  you.  You 
must  be  off  at  once." 

"  Xo,  no,  massa ;  neber  fear ;  I  knows  him.  He'd 
keep  his  word,  ef  he  loss  his  life  by  it.  I'm  gwine  afore 
smirise  ;  till  den  I'm  safe." 

"  Der  ye  tink  Massa  Davy  wud  broke  his  word,  sar  ?" 
said  the  old  negress,  bridling  up  her  bent  form,  and  speak- 
insT  in  a  tone  in  v\^hich  indig-nation  mingled  with  wound- 
ed  dignity;  "p'raps  gem  men  do  dat  at  de  IsTorf — dey 
neber  does  it  har." 

"  Excuse  me,  Aunty;  I  know  your  master  is  a  man  of 
honor ;  but  he's  very  much  excited,  and  very  angry  with 
Scip." 

"  Xo  matter  for  dat,  sar;  Massa  Davy  neber  done  a 
mean  ting  sense  he  war  born." 

"  Massa  K tinks  a  heap  ob  de  Cunnel,  Aimty ;  but 


128  A^ONG   THE   rmES. 

he  reckon  he'm  sort  o'  crazy  now ;  dat  make  Mm 
afeard,"  said  Sci]},  in  an  apologetic  tone. 

" Wliat  ef  he  am  crazy?  You'se  safe  7i«r,"  rejoined 
the  old  woman,  di'opj^ing  her  aged  limbs  into  a  thair, 
and  rocking  away  with  much  the  air  which  ancient  white 
ladies  occasionally  assmne. 

"  Wont  you  ax  Massa  K to  a  cheer  ?"  said  Scip ; 

*'  he  hab  ben  bery  kine  to  me." 

The  negress  then  oflered  me  a  seat ;  but  it  was  some 
minutes  before  I  rendered  myself  sufficiently  agreeable 
to  thaw  out  the  icy  dignity  of  her  manner.  Meanwhile 
I  glanced  around  the  apartment. 

Though  the  exterior  of  the  cabin  was  like  the  others 
on  the  plantation,  the  mterior  had  a  rude,  grotesque  ele- 
gance about  it  far  in  advance  of  any  negro  hut  I  had 
ever  seen.  The  logs  were  chinked  with  clay,  and  the 
one  window,  though  destitute  of  glass,  and  ornamented 
with  the  inevitable  board-shutter,  had  a  green  moreen 
curtain,  which  kept  out  the  wind  and  the  rain.  A  worn 
but  neat  and  well  swept  carpet  partly  covered  the  floor, 
and  on  the  low  bed  was  spread  a  patch-work  counter- 
pane. Agamst  the  side  of  the  room  opposite  the  door 
stood  an  antique,  brass-handled  bureau,  and  an  old-fash- 
ioned table,  covered  ^s^ith  a  faded  woollen  cloth,  occu- 
pied the  centre  of  the  apartment.  Li  the  corner  near 
the  fire  was  a  curiously-contrived  sideboard,  made  of 
narrow  strips  of  yellow  pine,  tongued  and  grooved  to- 
gether, and  oiled  so  as  to  bring  out  the  beautiiiil  grain  of 
the  wood.      On   it  were   several  broken   and   cracked 


THE    PLANTERS    "FAMILY.  129 

glasses,  aud  an  array  of  irregular  crockery.  The  rock- 
ing chair,  in  wliich  the  old  negress  passed  the  most  of 
her  time,  was  of  mahogany,  wadded  and  covered  with 
chintz,  and  the  arm-seat  I  occupied,  though  old  and 
patched  in  many  places,  had  evidently  moved  in  good 
society. 

The  mistress  of  this  second-hand  furniture  establish- 
ment was  ai'rayed  in  a  mass  of  cast-off  finery,  whose 
gay  colors  were  in  striking  contrast  "v\dth  her  jet-black 
skin  and  bent,  decrepit  form.  Her  gown,  which  was 
very  short,  was  oi^  flaming  red  and  yellow  worsted  stuff, 
and  the  enormous  turban  that  graced  her  head  and  hid 
all  but  a  few  tufts  of  her  frizzled,  "  pepper-and-salt" 
locks,  was  evidently  a  contribution  from  the  family  stock 
of  worn-out  piUow-cases.  She  was  very  aged — upward 
of  seventy — and  so  thm  that,  had  she  not  been  endowed 
with  speech  and  motion,  she  might  have  passed  for  a  bun- 
dle of  whalebone  thrown  into  human  shape,  and  covered 
with  a  coating  of  gutta-percha.  It  was  evident  she  had 
been  a  valued  house-servant,  whose  few  remaining  years 
were  being  soothed  and  solaced  by  the  kind  and  indul- 
gent care  of  a  grateful  master. 

Scip,  I  soon  saw,  was  a  favorite  with  the  old  negress, 
and  the  marked  respect  he  showed  me  quickly  dispelled 
the  angry  feeling  my  doubts  of  "  Massa  Davy"  had  ex- 
cited, and  opened  her  heart  and  her  mouth  at  the  same 
moment.  She  was  terribly  garrulous;  her  tongue,  as 
soon  as  it  got  under  way,  ran  on  as  if  propelled  by  ma- 
chinery and  acquainted  with  the  secret  of  perpetual  mo- 
6* 


130  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

tion;  but  she  was  an  interesting  study.  The  single- 
hearted  attachment  she  showed  for  her  master  and  his 
family  gave  me  a  new  insight  into  the  practical  working 
of  "the  peculiar  institution,"  and  convinced  me  that 
even  slavery,  in  some  of  its  aspects,  is  not  so  black  as  it 
is  painted. 

When  we  were  seated,  I  said  to  Scip,  "  What  induced 
you  to  lay  hands  on  the  Colonel  ?  It  is  death,  you 
know,  if  he  enforces  the  lav,^." 

"  I  knows  dat,  massa  ;  I  knows  dat ;  but  I  had  to  do 
it.  Dat  Moye  am  de  ole  debble,  but  de  folks  round  har 
wud  hab  tm-ned  on  de  Gunnel,  shore,  ef  he'd  killed  him. 
Dey  don't  hke  de  Gunnel;  dey  say  he'm  a  stuck-up  sesh- 
ener." 

"The  Golonel,  then,  has  befriended  you  at  some 
time  ?" 

"  No,  no,  sar  ;  'twarn't  dat ;  dough  I'se  know'd  him 
a  long  w'ile — eber  sense  my  ole  massa  fetched  me  from 
Habana — but  'twarn't  dat." 

"  Then  why  did  you  do  it  ?" 

The  black  hesitated  a  moment,  and  glanced  at  the  old 
negress,  then  said : 

"  You  see,  massa,  w'en  I  fuss  come  to  Gharles'n,  a 
pore  httle  ting,  wid  no  fiiend  in  all  de  worle,  dis  ole 
aunty  war  a  mudder  to  me.  She  nussed  de  Gunnel ;  he 
am  jess  like  her  own  chile,  and  I  know'd  'twud  kill  her 
ef  he  got  hissef  enter  trubble." 

I  noticed  certain  convulsive  twitchinsfs  about  tlie  cor- 
ners  of  the  old  woman's  mouth  as  she  rose  from  her 


THE   planter's    ^'  FAMILY."  131 

geat,  threw  her  arms  around  Scip,  and,  in  words  broken 
by  sobs,  faltered  out ; 

"  You  am  my  chile ;  I  loves  you  better  dan  Massa 
Davy — better  dan  ail  de  worle." 

The  scene,  had  they  not  been  black,  would  have  been 
one  for  a  painter. 

"  You  were  the  Colonel's  nui'se,  Aunty,"  I  said, 
when  she  had  regained  her  composure.  "  Have  you 
always  hved  with  him  ?" 

"  Yas,  sar,  allers ;  I  nussed  him,  and  den  de  chil'ren — 
all  ob  'em." 

"  All  the  children  ?  I  thought  the  Colonel  had  but 
one — Miss  Clara." 

"  Wal,  he  habn't,  massa,  only  de  boys." 

"  What  boys  ?     I  never  heard  he  had  sons." 

"  Neber  heerd  of  young  Massa  Davy,  nor  Massa  Tom- 
my !     Haint  you  seed  Massa  Tommy,  sar  ?" 

"Tommy!      I   was    told  he   was    Madam  P 's 

son." 

"  So  he  am ;  Massa  Davy  had  her  long  afore  he  had 
missus." 

The  truth  flashed  upon  me  ;  but  could  it  be  possible  ? 
Was  I  in  South  Carolina  or  in  Utah  ? 

"  Who  is  Madam  P ?"  I  asked. 

The  old  woman  hesitated  a  moment  as  if  in  doubt 
whether  she  had  not  said  too  much ;  but  Scip  quietly 
rephed : 

"  She'm  jess  what  aunty  am — cle  Cun7ieVs  slave  P"^ 

*'  His  slave  !  it  can't  be  possible ;  she  is  white !" 


132  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

"  IsTo,  massa ;  slie  am  brack,  and  de  Cunnel's  slave !" 
iTot  to  weary  the  reader  with  a  long  repetition  of 
negro-English,  I  will  tell  in  brief  what  I  gleaned  from  an 
hour's  conversation  with  the  two  blacks. 

Madam  P was  the  daughter  of  Ex-Gov. , 

of  Virginia,  by  a  quarteron  woman.  She  was  born  a 
slave,  but  was  acknowledged  as  her  father's  child,  and 
reared  in  his  family  with  his  legitmiate  children.  When 
she  was  ten  years  old  her  father  died,  and  his  estate 
proving  insolvent,  the  land  and  negroes  were  brought 
under  the  hammer.  His  daughter,  never  having  been 
manumitted,  was  inventoried  and  sold  with  the  other 
property.  The  Colonel,  then  just  of  age,  and  a  young 
man  of  fortune,  bought  her  and  took  her  to  the  resi- 
dence of  his  mother  m  Charleston.  A  governess  was 
provided  for  her,  and  a  yeai*  or  two  afterv»^ard  she  was 
taken  to  the  North  to  be  educated.  There  she  was  fre- 
quently visited  by  the  Colonel ;  and  when  fifteen  her 
condition  became  such  that  she  was  obho-ed  to  return 
home.  He  conveyed  her  to  the  plantation,  where  her 
elder  son,  David,  was  soon  after  born,  "Aunt  Lucy" 
officiating  on  the  occasion.  When  the  child  was  two 
years  old,  leaving  it  in  charge  of  the  aged  negress,  she 
accompanied  the  Colonel  to  Europe,  where  they  re- 
mained for  a  year.  Subsequently  she  passed  another 
year  at  a  Northern  seminary ;  and  then,  returnmg  to 
the  homestead,  was  duly  installed  as  its  mistress,  and 
had  ever  since  presided  over  its  domestic  affah's.  She 
was  kind  and  good  to  the  negroes,  who  were  greatly 


THE   PLiJNTER's,"FA]SIILY."  133 

attaclied  to  her,  and  much  of  the  Colonel's  wealth  was 
due  to  her  excellent  management  of  the  plantation. 

Six  years  after  the  birth  of  "  young  Massa  Davy," 
the  Colonel  married  his  present  wife,  that  lady  having 
full  knowledge  of  his  left-handed  connection  with  Mad- 
am P ,  and  consenting  that  the  "  bond-woman"  should 

remain  on  the  plantation,  as  its  mistress.  The  legitimate 
wife  resided,  during  most  of  the  year,  in  Charleston, 
and  when  at  the  homestead  took  little  interest  in  domes- 
tic matters.  On  one  of  her  visits  to  the  plantation, 
twelve  years  before,  her  daughter,  Miss  Clara,  was  born, 

and  within  a  week,  mider  the  same  roof.  Madam  P 

presented  the  Colonel  with  a  son — the  lad  Thomas,  of 
whom  I  have  spoken.  As  the  mother  was  slave,  the 
children  were  so  also  at  birth,  but  they  had  been 
manumitted  by  thek  father.  One  of  them  was  being 
educated  m  Germany ;  and  it  was  intended  that  both 
should  spend  their  lives  in  that  country,  the  taint  in 
their  blood  being  an  insuperable  b?ir  to  their  ever  ac- 
quiring social  position  at  the  South. 

As  she  finished  the  story,  the  old  woman  said,  "  Massa 
Davy  am  bery  kind  to  the  missus,  sar,  but  be  love  dp 
ma'am ;  an'  he  can't  help  it,  'cause  she'm  jess  so  good 
as  de  angels."* 

*  Instances  are  frequent  where  Southern  gentlemen  form  these  left-handed 
connections,  and  rear  two  sets  of  diflferently  colored  children ;  but  it  is  not  often 
that  the  two  families  occupy  the  same  domicil.  The  only  other  case  within  my 
personal  knowledge  was  that  of  the  well-known  President  of  the  Bank  of  St. 

M ,  at  Columbus,  Ga.    That  gentleman,  whose  note  ranked  in  Wall  Street, 

when  the  wi-iter  was  acquainted  with  that  locality,  as  "A  No.  1,"  lived  for  fifteen 
years  with  two  "  wives"  under  one  roof.    One,  an  accomplished  white  woman, 


134:  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

I  looked  at  my  watcli — it  was  nearly  ten  o'clock,  and 
I  rose  to  go.     As  I  did  so  tlie  old  negress  said : 

"  Don't  yer  gwo,  massa,  'fore  you  hab  sum  ob  aunty's 
wine  ;  you'm  good  friends  wid  Scip,  and  I  knows  yoic'se 
not  too  proud  to  di'ink  wid  brack  folks,  ef  you  am  from 
de  Norf." 

Being  curious  to  know  wliat  quality  of  wine  a  planta- 
tion slave  indulged  in,  I  accepted  the  invitation.  She 
went  to  the  side-board,  and  brought  out  a  cut-glass  de- 
canter, and  tln-ee  cracked  tumblers,  which  she  placed  on 
the  table.  Filling  the  glasses  to  the  brim,  she  passed 
one  to  Scip,  and  one  to  me,  and,  with  the  other  in  her 
hand,  resumed  her  seat.  Wishing  her  a  good  many 
happy  years,  and  Scip  a  pleasant  journey  home,  I  emp- 
tied my  glass.  It  was  Scuppernong,  and  the  pure  juice 
of  the  grape ! 

"  Aunty,"  I  said,  "this  wine  is  as  fine  as  I  ever  tasted." 

"  Oh,  yas,  massa,  it  am  de  raal  stuff.  I  growed  de 
grapes  myseff." 

"  You  grew  them?" 

"  Yas,  sar,  an'  Massa  Davy  make  de  wine.  He  do  it 
ebery  yar  for  de  ole  nuss." 

and  the  mother  of  several  children — did  the  honors  of  his  table,  and  moved  with 
him  in  "  the  best  society ;"  the  other— a  beautiful  quadroon,  also  the  mother  of 
several  children — filled  the  humbler  office  of  nurse  to  her  own  and  the  other's 
offspring. 

In  conversation  with  a  well-known  Southern  gentleman,  not  long  since,  I  men- 
tioned these  two  cases,  and  commented  on  them  as  a  man  educated  with  New 
England  ideas  might  be  supposed  to  do.  The  gentleman  admitted  that  he  knew 
of  twenty  such  instances,  and  gravely  defended  the  practice  as  being  infinitely 
more  moral  And  respectable  than  the  more  common  relation  existing  between 
masters  and  slaves. 


THE  pulntee's  "family.  135 

"  The  Colonel  is  yeiy  good.  Do  you  raise  any  tMng 
else?" 

"  Yas,  I  hab  collards  and  taters,  a  little  corn,  and 
most  ebery  ting." 

"But  wlio  does  your  work?  You  certainly  can't 
do  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  de  ma'am  looks  arter  dat,  sar  ;  she'm  bery  good 
to  de  ole  aunty." 

Shaking  hands  with  both  the  negroes,  I  left  the  cabin, 
fully  convinced  that  all  the  happiness  in  this  world  is 
not  found  within  plastered  apartments. 

The  door  of  the  mansion  was  bolted  and  barred ;  but, 
rapping  for  admission,  I  soon  heard  the  Colonel's  voice 
asking,  "  Who  is  there  ?"  Givmg  a  satisfactory  an- 
swer, I  was  admitted.  Explaining  that  he  supposed  I 
had  retired  to  my  room,  he  led  the  way  to  the  li- 
brary. 

That  apartment  was  much  more  elegantly  furnished 
than  the  drawinsr-rooms.  Thi-ee  of  its  sides  were  hned 
with  books,  and  on  the  centre-table,  paj^ers,  pamphlets, 
and  manuscripts  were  scattered  in  promiscuous  confu- 
sion.    In  an  arm-chair  near  the  fire,  Madame  P was 

seated,  reading.  The  Colonel's  manner  was  as  composed 
as  if  nothinsr  had  disturbed  the  usual  routine  of  the 
plantation ;  no  trace  of  the  recent  terrible  excitement 
was  visible ;  in  fact,  had  I  not  been  a  witness  to  the  late 
tragedy,  I  should  have  thought  it  incredible  that  he, 
within  two  hours,  had  been  an  actor  in  a  scene  which 
had  cost  a  human  being  his  life. 


136  AilOKG    THE    PINES. 

"  Where  in  creation  have  you  been,  my  dear  fellow?' 
he  asked,  as  we  took  our  seats. 

"At  old  Lucy's  cabin,  with  Scip,"  I  replied. 

"  Indeed.     I  supposed  the  darky  had  gone." 

"  No,  he  doesn't  go  till  the  morning." 

"  I  told  you  he  wouldn't,  David,"  said  Madame  P ; 

"  now,  send  for  him — make  friends  with  him  before  he 
goes." 

"  No,  Alice,  it  wont  do.  I  bear  him  no  ill-will,  but  it 
wont  do.    It  would  be  all  over  the  plantation  in  an  hour." 

"  No  matter  for  that ;  our  people  would  like  you  the 
better  for  it." 

"  No,  no.  I  can't  do  it.  I  mean  him  no  harm,  but  I 
can't  do  that." 

"He  told  me  why  he  interfered  between  you  and 
Moye,"  I  remarked. 

"  Why  did  he  ?" 

"  He  says  old  Lucy,  years  ago,  was  a  mother  to  him ; 
that  she  is  greatly  attached  to  you,  and  it  would  kill  her 
if  any  harm  happened  to  you ;  and  that  your  neighbors 
bear  you  no  good-will,  and  would  have  enforced  the  law 
had  you  killed  Moye." 

"Jt  is  true,  David;  you  would  have  had  to  answer 
for  it." 

"  Nonsense  \  what  influence  could  this  North  County 
scum  have  against  -me  P" 

"  I^erhaps  none.  But  that  makes  no  difference ;  Scipio 
did  right,  and  you  should  tell  him  you  forgive  him." 

The  Colonel  then  rang  a  small  bell,  and  a  negro  wo- 


THE    planter's    "  FAinLY."  137 

man  soon  appeared.  "Sue,"  he  said,  "go  to  Aunt 
Lucy's,  and  ask  Scip  to  come  here.  Brmg  him  in  at  the 
front  door,  and,  mind,  let  no  one  know  he  comes." 

The  woman  in  a  short  time  returned  with  Scip.  There 
was  not  a  trace  of  fear  or  embarrassment  in  the  negro's 
manner  as  he  entered  the  room.  Making  a  respectful 
bow,  he  bade  us  "  good  evening." 

"  Good  evening,  Scip,"  said  the  Colonel,  rising  and 
giving  the  black  his  hand ;  "let  us  be  friends.  Madam 
tells  me  I  should  forgive  you,  and  I  do." 

"  Aunt  Lucy  say  ma'am  am  an  angel,  sar,  and  it  am 
tru — it  ara  tru^  sar,"  replied  the  negro  with  considera- 
ble feehng. 

The  lady  rose,  also,  and  took  Scip's  hand,  saying,  "  I 
not  only  forg've  you,  but  I  thank  you  for  what  you  have 
done.     I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"  You'se  too  good,  ma'am ;  you'se  too  good  to  say 
dat,"  rephed  the  darky,  the  moisture  coming  to  his  eyes; 
"  but  I  meant  nuffin'  wrong — I  meant  nuffin'  dis'specful 
to  de  Gunnel." 

"I  know  you  didn't,  Scip ;  but  we'll  say  no  more  about 
it ; — good-by,"  said  the  Colonel. 

Shaking  hands  with  each  one  of  us,  the  darky  left  the 
apartment. 

Gne  who  does  not  know  that  the  high-bred  Southern 
gentleman  considers  the  black  as  far  below  him  as  the 
horse  he  drives,  or  the  dog  he  kicks,  cannot  realize  the 
amazing  sacrifice  of  pride  which  the  Colonel  made  in 
seeking  a  reconciliation  with  Scip.     It  was  the  cutting 


138  AISIOXG    THE   riNES. 

off  of  his  rio:lit  hand.  The  circumstance  showed  the 
powerful  influence  held  over  him  by  the  octoroon  wo- 
man. Strange  that  she,  his  slave,  cast  out  from  society 
by  her  blood  and  her  life,  despised,  no  doubt,  by  all  the 
world,  save  by  him  and  a  few  ignorant  blacks,  should 
thus  control  a  proud,  self-willed,  passionate  man,  and 
control  him,  too,  only  for  good. 

After  the  black  had  gone,  I  said  to  the  Colonel,  "  1 
was  much  interested  in  old  Lucy.  A  few  more  such  in- 
stances of  cheerful  and  contented  old  age,  might  lead 
me  to  think  better  of  slavery." 

"  Such  cases  are  not  rare,  sir.  They  show  the  pater- 
nal character  of  our  '  institution.'  We  are  forced  to 
care  for  our  servants  in  their  old  a<?e." 

"  But  have  your  other  aged  slaves  the  sa*ne  comforts 
that  Aunt  Lucy  has  ?" 

"  No ;  they  don't  need  them.  She  has  been  accus- 
tomed to  live  in  my  house,  and  to  fare  better  than  the 
plantation  hands ;  she  therefore  requires  better  treat- 
ment." 

"  Is  not  the  support  of  that  class  a  heavy  tax  upon 
you  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  hea\'y.  TVe  have,  of  course,  to  deduct  it 
from  the  labor  of  the  able-bodied  hands." 

"  What  is  the  usual  proportion  of  sick  and  infirm  on 
your  plantation  ?" 

"  Counting  in  the  child-bearing  women,  I  reckon  about 
twenty  per  cent." 

"And  what  does  it  cost  you  to  support  each  hand?" 


THE   planter's    '^family."  l^O 

"  WeU,  it  costs  me,  for  children  and  all,  about  seven- 
ty-five aollars  a  year.  In  some  places  it  costs  less.  Z 
iave  to  buy  all  my  provisions." 

-mat  proportion  of  your  slaves  are  able-bodied 
nands  ?" 

"Somewhere  about  sixty  per  cent.  I  have,  aU  told 
old  and  young-men,  women,  and  children-two  hun- 
ared  and  seventy.  Out  of  that  number  I  have  now 
equal  to  a  hundred  and  fifty-four  futt  hands.  Ton  un- 
derstand that  we  classify  them :  some  do  only  half  tasks 
some  three-quarters.  I  have  more  than  a  h,mdred  and 
Wty-four  working-men  and  women,  but  they  do  only 
tnat  number  of  fuU  tasks." 

"  What  does  the  labor  of  a  full  hand  yield  '" 

"At  the  present  price  of  turpentine,  my  calculation  is 
about  two  nimdred  doUars  a  year." 

"Then  your  crop  brings  you  about  thii-ty-one  thou- 
sand  dollars,  and  the  support  of  your  negroes  costs  you 
tY,'enty  thousand."  •' 

"Yes." 

"If  that's  the  case,  my  friend,  let  me  advise  you  to 
seU  y^,r  plantation,  fi-ee  your  niggers,  and  go  North." 
Why  so,  my  dear  feUow?"  asked  the  Colonel  laugh- 


mg. 


"  Because  you'd  make  money  by  the  operation." 

"I  never  was  good  at  arithmetic;  go  mto  tlie  figures  " 

he  replied,  still  laughing,  while  Madam  P ,  who  had 

laid  aside  her  book,  listened  very  attentively. 

"  Wen,  yoa  have  two  hundred  and  seventy  negroes 


140  .        Among  the  fixes. 

■whom  you  value,  we'll  say,  with  your  mules,  'stills,' 
and  movable  property,  at  two  hundred  thousand  dollars ; 
and  twenty  thousand  acres  of  land,  worth  about  three 
dollars  and  a  half  an  acre;  all  told,  two  hundred  and 
seventy  thousand  dollars.  A  hundred  and  fifty-fom*  able- 
bodied  hands  produce  you  a  yearly  profit  of  eleven  thou- 
sand dollars,  which,  saying  nothing  about  the  cost  of 
keeping  your  live  stock,  the  wear  and  tear  of  your  mules 
and  machinery,  and  the  yearly  loss  of  your  slaves  by 
death,  is  only  four  per  cent,  on  your  capital.  Now,  with 
only  the  price  of  your  land,  say  seventy  thousand  dol- 
lars, invested  in  safe  stocks  at  the  North,  you  could 
realize  eight  per  cent. — five  thousand  six  hundred 
dollars — and  Hve  at  ease;  and  that,  I  judge,  if  you 
have  many  rimaways,  or  many  die  on  your  hands,  is  as 
much  as  you  really  clear  now.  Besides,  if  you  should 
invest  seventy  thousand  dollars  in  almost  any  legitimate 
business  at  the  North,  and  should  add  to  it,  as  you  now 
do,  your  time  and  labor^  you  would  realize  far  more  than 
'  you  do  at  present  from  your  entire  capital." 

"  I  never  looked  at  the  matter  in  that  light.  But  I 
have  given  you  my  profits  as  they  now  are ;  some  years 
I  make  more;  six  years  ago  I  made  twenty-five  thousand 
dollars." 

"Yes;  and  six  years  hence  you  may  make  nothing." 

"  That's  true.  But  it  would  cost  me  more  to  live  at 
the  North." 

"  There  you  are  mistaken.  What  do  you  pay  for  your 
corn,  your  pork,  and  your  hay,  for  instance  ?" 


THE    planter's    "  FAMILY."  'Ill 

"  Well,  my  corn  I  have  to  bring  round  by  vessel  from 
"Washington  (Xorth  Carolina),  and  it  costs  me  high  when 
it  gets  here — about  ten  bits  (a  dollar  and  twenty-five 
cents),  I  think." 

"And  in  New  York  you  could  buy  it  now  at  sixty  to 
seventy  cents.     What  does  your  hay  cost  ?" 

"Thirty-five  dollars.  I  pay  twenty  for  it  in  New 
York — the  balance  is  freight  and  hauling." 

"  Your  pork  costs  you  two  or  three  dollars,  I  suppose, 
for  freight  and  hauling." 

"  Yes ;  about  that." 

"  Then  in  those  items  you  might  save  nearly  a  hun- 
dred ^er  cent.;  and  they  are  the  principal  articles  you 


consume." 


"Yes;  there's  no  denying  that.  But  another  thing 
is  just  as  certain :  it  costs  less  to  support  one  of  my 
niggers  than  one  of  your  laboring  men." 

"  That  may  be  true.  But  it  ODly  shows  that  our 
laborers  fare  better  than  your  slaves." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that.  I  am  sure,  however,  that  our 
slaves  are  more  contented  than  the  run  of  laboring  men 
at  the  North." 

"  That  proves  nothing.  Your  blacks  have  no  hope, 
no  chance  to  rise;  and  they  submit — though  I  judge  not 
cheerfully — to  an  iron  necessity.  The  Northern  laborer, 
if  very  poor,  may  be  discontented ;  but  discontent  urges 
him  to  effort,  and  leads  to  the  bettering  of  his  condition. 
I  tell  you,  my  friend,  slavery  is  an  expensive  luxury. 


14:2  AMOKG  THE   PINES. 

Toil  Southera  naboLs  icillhaYe  it;  and  youliave  to  pay 
for  it.'''' 

"  Well,  we  don't  complain.  But,  seriously,  my  good 
fellow,  I  feel  that  I  am  carrying  out  the  design  of  the 
Almighty  in  holding  my  niggers.  I  think  he  made  the 
black  to  serve  the  white." 

"/  think,"  I  replied,  "that  whatever  He  designs  works 
perfectly.  Your  institution  certainly  does  not.  It 
keeps  the  producer,  who,  in  every  society,  is  the  really 
valuable  citizen,  in  the  lowest  poverty,  while  it  allows 
those  Vr'ho  do  nothing  to  be  'clad  in  fine  linen,  and  to 
fare  sumptuously  every  day.' " 

"It  does  more  than  that,  sir,"  said  Madam  P , 

with  animation;  "  it  brutahzes  and  degrades  the  master 
and  the  slave;  it  separates  husband  and  wife,  parent  and 
child ;  it  sacrifices  virtuous  women  to  the  lust  of  brutal 
men ;  and  it  shuts  millions  out  from  the  knowledge  of 
their  duty  and  their  destiny.  A  good  and  just  God 
could  not  have  designed  it;  and  it  tmist  come  to  an 
end." 

If  lightning  had  struck  in  the  room  I  could  not  have 
been  more  startled  than  I  was  by  the  abrupt  utterance 
of  such  language  in  a  planter's  house,  in  his  very  pres- 
ence, and  by  his  slave.  The  Colonel,  however,  expressed 
no  surprise  and  no  disapprobation.  It  was  evidently  no 
new  thing  to  hhn. 

"It  is  rare,  madam,"  I  said,  "to  hear  such  sentiments 
from  a  Southern  lady — one  reared  among  slaves." 

Before  she  could  reply,  the  Colonel  laughingly  said : 


THE   PLiJ^q^TEs's    ''  FAMILY."  14.3 

"Bless  YOU,  Mr.  K ,  madam  is  an  out-and-out 

abolitionist,  worse  by  fifty  per  cent,  than  Garrison  or 
Wendell  Phillips.  K  she  were  at  the  North  she  would 
take  to  pantaloons,  and  'stimip'  the  entire  free  States; 
wouldn't  you,  Alice  ?" 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  rejoined  the  lady,  smiling. 
"But  I  fear  I  should  have  poor  success.     I've  tried  for 

ten  years  to  convert  yoi^,  and  Mr.  K can  see  the 

result." 

It  had  grown  late ;  and  with  my  head  fidl  of  working 
niggers  and  white  slave-women,  I  went  to  my  apartment. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday.  It  was  near  the  close  of 
December,  yet  the  air  was  as  mild  and  the  sun  as  warm, 
as  in  our  Northern  October.  It  was  arranged  at  the 
breakfast-table  that  we  all  should  attend  service  at  "  the 
meeting-house,"  a  church  of  the  Methodist  persuasion, 
located  some  eight  miles  away ;  but  as  it  wanted  some 
hours  of  the  time  for  relio-lous  exercises  to  commence,  I 
strolled  out  after  breakfast,  with  the  Colonel,  to  inspect 
the  stables  of  the  plantation.  "  Massa  Tommy"  accom- 
panied us,  without  invitation ;  and  in  the  Colonel's  in- 
tercourse with  him  I  observed  as  much  fi-eedom  and 
familiarity  as  he  would  have  shown  to  an  acknowledged 
son.  The  vouth's  manners  and  conversation  showed 
that  great  attention  had  been  given  to  his  education  and 
traming,  and  made  it  evident  that  the  mother  whose 
influence  was  forming  his  character,  whatever  a  false 
system  of  society  had  made  her  Ufe^  possessed  some  of 
the  best  traits  of  her  sex. 


IM  AMONG   THE   PESTES. 

The  stables,  a  collection  of  one-story  framed  buildings, 
about  a  hundred  rods  from  the  house,  were  well  lighted 
and  ventilated,  and  contained  all  "  the  modern  improve- 
ments." They  were  better  built,  warmer,  more  com- 
modious, and  in  every  way  more  comfortable  than  the 
shanties  occupied  by  the  human  cattle  of  the  plantation. 
I  remarked  as  much  to  the  Colonel,  adding  that  one 
who  did  not  know  would  infer  that  he  valued  his  horses 
more  than  his  slaves. 

"  That  may  be  true,"  he  replied,  laughing.  "  Two  of 
my  horses  are  worth  more  than  any  eight  of  my  slaves  j" 
at  the  same  time  calling  my  attention  to  two  magnifi- 
cent thorough-breds,  one  of  which  had  made  "  2.32"  on 
the  Charleston  course.  The  establishment  of  a  Southern 
gentleman  is  not  complete  until  it  includes  one  or  two 
of  these  useless  appendages.  I  had  an  argument  with 
my  host  as  to  their  value  compared  with  that  of  the 
steam-engine,  in  which  I  forced  him  to  admit  that  the 
iron  horse  is  the  better  of  the  two,  because  it  performs 
more  work,  eats  less,  has  greater  speed,  and  is  not  hable 
to  the  spavin  or  the  heaves ;  but  he  wound  up  by  say- 
ing, "  After  all,  I  go  for  the  thorough-breds.  You  Yan- 
kees have  but  one  test  of  value — use." 

A  ramble  through  the  negro-quarters,  which  followed 
our  visit  to  the  stables,  gave  me  some  further  glimpses 
of  plantation  life.  Many  of  the  hands  were  still  away 
ill  pursuit  of  Moye,  but  enough  remained  to  make  it 
evident  that  Sunday  is  the  happiest  day  in  the  darky 
calendar.     Groups  of  all  ages  and  colors  were  gathered 


THE    PLANTEe's    "  FAMILY."  145 

in  front  of  several  of  the  cabins,  some  singmg,  some 
dancing,  and  others  chatting  quietly  together,  but  all 
enjoying  themselves  as  heartily  as  so  many  young  ani- 
mals let  loose  in  a  pasture.  They  saluted  the  Colonel 
and  me  respectfully,  but  each  one  had  a  free,  good- 
natured  vv^ord  for  "  Massa  Tommy,"  who  seemed  an 
especial  favorite  with  them.  The  lad  took  their  gi-eet- 
ings  in  good  part,  but  preserved  an  easy,  imconscious 
dignity  of  manner  that  plainly  showed  he  did  not  know 
that  he  too  was  of  their  despised,  degraded  race. 

The  Colonel,  in  a  rapid  way,  gave  me  the  character 
and  peculiarities  of  nearly  every  one  we  met.  The  titles 
of  some  of  them  amused  me  greatly.  At  every  step  we 
encountered  individuals  whose  names  have  become  house- 
hold words  in  every  civilized  country,*  Julius  Csesar, 
slightly  stouter  than  when  he  swam  the  Tiber,  and  some- 
what tanned  from  long  exposure  to  a  Southern  sun,  was 
seated  on  a  wood-pile,  quietly  smoking  a  pipe ;  while 
near  him,  Washmgton,  divested  of  regimentals,  and 
clad  in  a  modest  suit  of  reddish-gray,  his  thin  locks 
frosted  by  time,  and  his  fleshless  visage  showing  great 
age,  was  gazing,  in  rapt  admiration,  at  a  group  of 
dancers  in  front  of  old  Lucy's  cabin. 

Li  this  group  about  thirty  men  and  women  were 
making  the  ground  quake  and  the  woods  ring  mth  their 
unrestrained  jollity.     Marc  Antony  was  rattling  away 

.  *  Among  the  things  of  which  slavery  has  deprived  the  black  is  a  name.  A 
Rlave  has  no  family  designation.  It  may  be  for  that  reason  that  a  high-sounding 
appellation  is  usually  selected  for  the  single  one  he -is  allowed  to  appropri?>to 


14:0  AMONG    THE    PINES. 

at  tlie  bones,  Xevo  fiddling  as  If  Rome  were  burning, 
and  Hannibal  clawing  at  a  banjo  as  if  the  fate  of  Car- 
thage hung  on  its  strings.  Xapoleon,  as  young  and  as 
lean  as  when  he  mounted  the  bridgre  of  Lodi,  with  the 
battle-smoke  still  on  his  face,  was  moTinij  his  lesrs  even 
faster  than  in  the  Russian  retreat ;  and  Wesley  was  using 
his  heels  in  a  way  that  showed  t/iei/  didn't  belong  to  the 
Methodist  church.  But  the  central  figures  of  the  group 
were  Cato  and  Victoria.  The  lady  had  a  face  like  a 
thunder-cloud,  and  a  form  that,  if  whitewashed,  would 
have  outsold  the  "  Greek  Slave."  She  was  built  on 
springs,  and  "  floated  in  the  dance"  like  a  feather  in  a 
hio;h  wind.  Cato's  mouth  was  like  an  alligator's,  but 
when  it  opened,  it  issued  notes  that  would  draw  the 
specie  even  in  this  time  of  general  suspension.  As  we 
approached  he  was  singing  a  song,  but  he  paused  on 
perceiving  us,  when  the  Colonel,  tossing  a  handful  of 
coin  among  them,  called  out,  "  Go  on,  boys  ;  let  the  gen- 
tleman have  some  music  ;  and  you,  Vic,  show  your  heels 
like  a  beautv." 

A  general  scramble  followed,  in  which  "  Yic's"  sense 
of  decorum  forbade  her  to  join,  and  she  consequently 
got  nothing.  Seeing  that,  I  tossed  her  a  silver  piece, 
which  she  caught.  Grinning  her  thanks,  she  shouted, 
"  Xow,  clar  de  track,  you  nigs ;  start  de  music.  I'se 
gwine  to  gib  de  gemman  de  breakdown." 

And  she  did ;  and  such  a  breakdown  !  "  We  w'ite 
folks,"  though  it  was  no  new  thing  to  the  Colonel  or 
Tommv,  almost  burst  with  laug^hter. 


THE   planter's    '^EAMILY."  147 

In  a  few  minutes  nearly  every  negro  on  tlie  plantation, 
attracted  by  the  presence  of  the  Colonel  and  myself, 
gathered  aromid  the  performers ;  and  a  shrill  voice  at 
my  elbow  called  out,  "Look  har,  ye  lazy,  good-for- 
nuffin'  niggers,  carn't  ye  fotch  a  cheer  for  Massa  Davy 
and  de  strange  gemman  ?" 

"  Is  that  you,  Aunty  ?"  said  the  Colonel.  "  How  d'ye 
do  ?" 

"  Sort  o'  smart,  Massa  Davy ;  sort  o'  smart ;  how  is 
ye?" 

"  Pretty  well,  Aunty ;  pretty  well.  Have  a  seat." 
And  the  Colonel  helped  her  to  one  of  the  chairs  that 
were  brought  for  us,  with  as  much  tenderness  as  he 
would  have  shown  to  an  aged  white  lady. 

The  "  exercises,"  wliich  had  been  suspended  for  a 
moment,  recommenced,  and  the  old  negress  entered  into 
them  as  heartily  as  the  yoimgest  present.  A  song  from 
Cato  followed  the  dance,  and  then  about  twenty  "  gen- 
tleman and  lady"  darkies  joined,  two  at  a  time,  in  a  half 
"  walk-round"  half  breakdown,  which  the  Colonel  told 
me  was  the  original  of  the  well-known  dance  and  song 
of  Lucy  Long.  Other  performances  succeeded,  and  the 
whole  formed  a  scene  impossible  to  describe.  Such  up- 
roarious jollity,  such  full  and  perfect  enjoyment,  I  had 
never  seen  in  humanity,  black  or  white.  The  httle  nigs, 
only  four  or  five  years  old,  would  rush  into  the  ring  and 
shuffle  away  at  the  breakdowns  till  I  feared  theu*  short 
legs  would  come  off;  while  all  the  darkies  joined  in  the 
songs,  till  the  branches  of  the  old  pines  above  shook  as 


148  AilOXG    THE   PINES. 

if  tliey  too  had  caught  the  spirit  of  the  music.     lu  the 
midst  of  it,  the  Colonel  said  to  me,  in  an  exultant  tone : 

"Well,  my  friend,  what  do  you  think  of  slavery 
nowT 

"About  the  same  that  I  thought  yesterday.  I  see 
nothhig  to  change  my  views." 

"Why,  are  not  these  peojjle  happy  ?  Is  not  this  per- 
fect enjoyment  ?" 

"Yes  ;  just  the  same  enjo}Tnent  that  aunty's  pigs  are 
havmg ;  don't  you  hear  tliein  smging  to  the  music  ?  I'U 
wager  they  are  the  haj^pier  of  the  two." 

"  Xo ;  you  are  wrong.  The  higher  faculties  of  the 
darkies  are  being  brought  out  here." 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  I  replied.  "  Within  the  sound 
of  their  voices,  two  of  their  fellows — victims  to  the  in- 
humanity of  slavery — are  lying  dead,  and  yet  they  make 
Sunday  "hideous"  with  wild  jollity,  while  Sam's  fate 
may  be  theirs  to-morrow." 

Spite  of  his  genuine  courtesy  and  high  breeding,  a 
shade  of  displeasure  passed  over  the  Colonel's  face  as  I 
made  this  remark.  Rising  to  go,  he  said,  a  little  im- 
patiently, "Ah,  I  see  how  it  is;  that  d —  Garrison's 
sentiments  have  impregnated  even  you.  How  can  the 
North  and  the  South  hold  together  Avhen  moderate  men 
like  you  and  me  are  so  far  apart  ?" 

"But  you,"  I  rejoined,  good-humoredly,  "are  not  a 
moderate  man.  You  and  Garrison  are  of  the  same 
stripe,  both  extremists.  You  have  mounted  one  hobby, 
he  another ;  that  is  all  the  difference." 


THE   PLAJ^lTEPw's    "  FA^IILY."  14.0 

"  I  should  be  sorry,"  lie  repKed,  recovering  Ms  good- 
nature, "  to  think  myself  like  Garrison.  I  consider  him 
the scoundrel  unhimg." 

"Xo;  I  think  he  means  well.  But  you  are  both 
fanatics,  both  '  bricks'  of  the  same  material ;  we  con- 
serA^atives,  hke  mortar,  will  hold  you  together  and  yet 
keep  you  apart." 

"  I,  for  one,  wo?i^t  be  held.  If  I  can't  get  out  of  this 
cursed  Union  in  any  other  way,  I'll  emigrate  to  Cuba." 

I  laughed,  and  just  then,  looking  up,  caught  a  glimpse 
of  Jim,  who  stood,  hat  in  hand,  waiting  to  speak  to  the 
Colonel,  but  not  daring  to  interrupt  a  white  conversation. 

"  Hallo,  Jim,"  I  said  ;  '  have  yau  got  back  ?" 

"  Yas,  sar,"  replied  Jim,  grinning  all  over  as  if  he  had 
some  aojreeable  thing  to  communicate. 

"  Where  is  Moye  ?"  asked  the  Colonel. 

"Kotched,  massa ;  I'se  got  de  padlocks  on  him." 

"Kotched,"  echoed  half  a  dozen  darkies,  who  stood 
near  enough  to  hear ;  "  Ole  Moye  is  kotched,"  ran 
through  the  crowd,  till  the  music  ceased,  and  a  shout 
went  up  from  two  hundred  black  throats  that  made  the 
old  trees  tremble. 

"  jSTow  gib  him  de  lashes,  Massa  Davy,"  cried  the  old 
nurse.  "  Gib  hun  what  he  gabe  pore  Sam ;  but  mine 
dat  you  keeps  widin  de  law." 

"Xever  fear,  Aunty,"  said  the  Colonel;  "I'll  give 
him  — ." 

How  the  Colonel  kept  his  word  will  be  told  in  another 
chapter. 


150  ^    AMONG   THE   PINES. 


OHAPTEK  yn. 


PLANTATION    DISCIPLINE. 


The  "  Ole  Cabin"  to  which  Jim  had  alluded  as  the 
scene  of  Sam's  punishment  by  the  overseer,  was  a  one- 
story  shanty  in  the  vicinity  of  the  stables.  Though  fast 
falling  to  decay,  it  had  more  the  appearance  of  a  human 
habitation  than  the  other  huts  on  the  plantation.  Its 
thick  plank  door  was  ornamented  with  a  mouldy  brass 
knocker,  and  its  four  windows  contained  sashes,  to 
which  here  and  there  clung  a  broken  pane,  the  sm-viving 
rehc  of  its  better  days.  It  was  built  of  large  unhewn 
logs,  notched  at  the  ends  and  laid  one  upon  the  other, 
with  the  bark  still  on.  The  thick,  rough  coat  which  yet 
adliered  in  patches  to  the  timber  had  opened  in  the  sun, 
ajid  let  the  rain  and  the  worm  burrow  in  its  sides,  till 
some  parts  had  crumbled  entirely  away.  At  one  corner 
the  process  of  decay  had  gone  on  till  roof,  superstruc- 
ture, and  foundation  had  rotted  down  and  left  an  open- 
ins:  laroro  enouo'h  to  admit  a  coach  and  four  horses.  The 
huge  chhnneys  which  had  graced  the  gable  ends  of  the 
building  were  fiiUen  in,  leaving  only  a  mass  of  sticks  and 
clay  to  tell  of  thek  existence,  and  two  wide  openings  to 
show  how  great  a  figure  they  had  once  made  in  the 
world.  A  small  space  in  front  of  the  cabin  would  have 
been  a  lawn,  had  the  grass  been  willing  to  grow  upon 


PLANT ATIOX   DISCIPLL^^E.  151 

it ;  and  a  few  acres  of  cleared  land  in  its  rear  might  have 
passed  for  a  garden,  had  it  not  been  entirely  overgrown 
with  young  pines  and  stubble.  This  primitive  structure 
was  once  the  "  mansion"  of  that  broad  plantation,  and, 
before  the  production  of  turpentine  came  into  fashion  in 
that  region,  its  rude  owner  drew  his  support  from  its 
i'ew  surrounding  acres,  more  truly  independent  than  the 
present  aristocratic  proprietor,  who,  raising  only  one 
article,  and  buying  all  his  provisions,  was  forced  to  draw 
his  support  from  the  Yankee  or  the  Englishman. 

Only  one  room,  about  forty  feet  square,  occupied  the 
interior  of  the  cabin.  It  once  contained  several  apart- 
ments, vestiges  of  which  still  remained,  but  the  parti- 
tions had  been  torn  away  to  fit  it  for  its  present  uses. 
What  those  uses  were,  a  moment's  observation  showed 
me. 

In  the  middle  of  the  floor,  a  space  about  fifteen  feet 
square  was  covered  with  thick  pine  planking,  strongly 
nailed  to  the  beams.  In  the  centre  of  this  planking,  an 
oaken  block  was  firmlv  bolted,  and  to  it  was  fastened  a 
strong  iron  staple  that  held  a  log-chain,  to  wliich  was 
attached  a  pair  of  shackles.  Above  this,  was  a  queer 
frame-work  of  oak,  somewhat  resembling  the  contri- 
vance for  dr}Tng  fruit  I  have  seen  in  Yankee  farm- 
houses. Attached  to  the  rafters  by  stout  pieces  of  tim- 
ber, were  two  hickory  poles,  placed  horizontally,  and 
about  four  feet  apart,  the  lower  one  rather  more  than 
eight  feet  from  the  floor.  This  was  the  whipping-rack, 
and  haiigmg  to  it  were  several  stout  whips  with  short 


152  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

hickory  handles,  and  long  triple  lashes.  I  took  one  down 
for  closer  inspection,  and  found  Hi  arned  into  the  wood, 
in  large  letters,  the  words  "  Moral  Suasion."  I  ques- 
tioned the  appropriateness  of  the  label,  but  the  Colonel 
insisted  with  great  gravity,  that  the  whip  is  the  only 
*'  moral  suasion"  a  dai'ky  is  capable  of  understanding. 

When  punishment  is  inflicted  on  one  of  the  Colonel's 
negroes,  his  feet  are  confined  in  the  shackles,  his  arms 
tied  above  his  head,  and  drawn  by  a  stout  cord  up  to 
one  of  the  horizontal  poles;  then,  his  back  bared  to 
the  waist,  and  standing  on  tip-toe,  with  every  muscle 
stretched  to  its  utmost  tension,  he  takes  "de  lashes." 

A  more  severe  but  more  unusual  punishment  is  the 
*'  thumb-screw."  In  this  a  noose  is  passed  around  the 
negro's  thumb  and  fore^bger,  while  the  cord  is  thrown 
over  the  upper  cross-p^BLand  the  culprit  is  drawn  up 
till  his  toes  barely  touch  the  ground.  In  this  position 
the  whole  weight  of  the  body  rests  on  the  thumb  and 
fore-finger.  The  torture  is  excruciating,  and  strong, 
able-bodied  men  can  endure  it  but  a  few  moments.  The 
Colonel  naively  told  me  that  he  had  discontinued  its 
practice,  as  several  of  his  women  had  nearly  lost  the 
use  of  theu-  hands,  and  been  incapacitated  for  field  labor, 

by  its  too  frequent  repetition.     "  My drivers,"*  he 

added,  "have  no  discretion,  and  no  humanity;  if  they 
have  a  pique  against  a  nigger,  they  show  him  no  mercy." 

The  old  shanty  I  have  described  was  now  the  place  of 
the  overseer's  confinement.     Open  as  it  was  at  top,  bot* 

♦  The  negro-whippers  and  Seld  overseera. 


PLANTATION    DISCIPLINE.  153 

torn,  and  sides,  it  seemed  an  unsafe  prison-house ;  but 
Jim  had  secured  its  present  occupant  by  placing  "  de 
padlocks  on  him." 

"  Where  did  you  catch  him  ?"  asked  the  Colonel,  as, 
followed  by  every  darky  on  the  plantation,  we  took  our 
way  to  the  old  building. 

"  In  de  swamp,  massa.  "We  got  Sandy  and  de  dogs 
arter  him — dey  treed  him,  but  he  fit  like  de  debble." 

"  Any  one  hurt  V" 

"  Yas,  Gunnel ;  he  knifed  Yaller  Jake,  and  ef  I  hadn't 
a  gibin  him  a  wiper,  you'd  a  had  anudder  nigger  short 
dis  mornin' — shore." 

"  How  was  it  ?  tell  me,"  said  his  master,  while  we 
paused,  and  the  darkies  gathered  around. 

"  Wal,  yer  see,  massa,  we  got  de  ole  debble's  hat  dat 
he  drapped  wen  you  had  him  down ;  den  we  went  to 
Sandy's  fur  de  dogs — dey  scented  him  to  oust,  and  off 
dey  put  for  de  swamp.  'Bout  twenty  on  us  foUored 
'em.  He'd  a  right  smart  start  on  us,  and  run  like  a 
deer,  but  de  hounds  kotohed  up  wid  him  'bout  whar  he 
shot  pore  Sam.  He  fit  'em  and  cut  up  de  Lady  awful, 
but  ole  Caesar  got  a  hole  ob  him,  and  sliced  a  breakfuss 
out  ob  his  legs.  Somehow,  dough,  he  got  'way  from 
de  ole  dog,  and  clum  a  tree.  'Twar  more'n  an  hour 
afore  we  kotched  up ;  but  dar  he  war,  and  de  houns  bay- 
ing 'way  as  ef  dey  know'd  what  an  ole  debble  he  am. 
I'd  tuk  one  ob  de  guns — you  warn't  in  de  house,  massa, 
so  I  cudn't  ax  you." 

"  Never  mind  that ;  go  on,"  said  the  Colonel. 


154:  AMONG    THE    PINES. 

"  Will,  I  up  wid  de  gun,  and  tole  him  ef  he  didn't  cuiri 
down  I'd  gib  him  suffin'  dat  'ud  sot  hard  on  de  stummuk. 
It  tuk  him  a  long  w'ile,  but — he  cum  down.''^  Here  the 
darky  showed  a  row  of  ivory  that  would  have  been  a 
fair  capital  for  a  metropolitan  dentist. 

"  When  he  war  down,"  he  resumed,  "Jake  war  gwine 
to  tie  him,  but  de  ole  'gator,  quicker  dan  a  flash,  put  a 
knife  enter  him." 

"  Is  Jake  much  hurt  ?"  interrupted  the  Colonel. 

"Not  bad,  massa;  de  knife  went  fi'u  his  arm,  and 
enter  his  ribs,  but  de  ma'am  hab  fix  him,  and  she  say 
he'll  be  'round  bcry  sudden." 

"  Well,  what  then  ?"  inquired  the  Colonel. 

"  Wen  de  ole  debble  seed  he  hadn't  finished  Jake,  he 
war  gwine  to  gib  him  anudder  dig,  but  jus"  den  I  drap  de 
gun  on  his  cocoanut,  and  he  neber  trubble  us  no  more. 
'Twar  mons'rous  hard  work  to  git  him  out  ob  de  swamp, 
'cause  he  war  jess  like  a  dead  man,  and  had  to  be  toted 
de  hull  way;  but  he'm  dar  now,  massa  (pointing  to  the 
old  cabin),  and  de  bracelets  am  on  him." 

"  Where  is  Jake  ?"  asked  the  Colonel. 

"  Dunno,  massa,  but  reckon  he'm  to  hum." 

"  One  of  you  boys  go  and  bring  him  to  the  cabin,'* 
paid  the  Colonel. 

A  negro  man  went  off  on  the  errand,  while  we  and 
the  darkies  resumed  our  way  to  the  overseer's  quarters. 
Arrived  there,  I  witnessed  a  scene  that  words  cannot 
picture. 

Stretched  at  full  length  on  the  floor,  his  clothes  torn 


PLANTATION    DISCIPLINE.  155 

to  sliredg,  liis  coarse  carroty  hair  matted  with  "blood,  and 
his  thin,  ugly  \'isage  pale  as  death,  lay  the  overseer. 
Bending  over  him,  wiping  away  the  blood  from  his  face, 
and  swathing  a  ghastly  wound  on  his  forehead,  was  the 
negress  Sue ;  while  at  his  shackled  feet,  binding  up  his 
still  bleeding  legs,  knelt  the  octoroon  woman ! 

"  Is  she  here  ?"  I  said,  involuntarily,  as  I  caught  sight 
of  the  group. 

"It's  her  nature,"  said  the  Colonel,  with  a  pleasant 
smUe ;  "  if  Moye  were  the  devil  himself,  she'd  do  him 
good  if  she  could ;  another  such  woman  never  hved." 

And  yet  this  woman,  with  all  the  instincts  that  make 
her  sex  angel-ministers  to  man,  lived  in  daily  violation 
of  the  most  sacred  of  all  laws — because  she  was  a  slave. 
Can  Mr.  Caleb  Gushing  or  Charles  O'Conor  tell  us  why 
the  Almighty  invented  a  system  which  forces  his  crea- 
tures to  break  laws  of  His  own  making  ? 

"Don't  waste  your  time  on  him,  Alice,"  said  the 
Colonel,  kindly;  "he  isn't  worth  the  rope  that'll  hang 
him." 

"  He  was  bleeding  to  death ;  unless  he  has  care  he'll 
die,"  said  the  octoroon  woman. 

"  Then  let  him  die,  d him,"  replied  the  Colonel, 

advancing  to  where  the  overseer  lay,  and  bending  down 
to  satisfy  himself  of  his  condition. 

Meanwhile  more  than  two  hundred  dusky  forms 
crowded  around  and  filled  every  opening  of  the  old 
building.  Every  conceivable  emotion,  except  pity,  was 
depicted  on  their   dark  faces.      The  same   individuals 


156  AMONG-   THE   PINES. 

whose  cloudy  visages  a  half  hour  before  I  had  seen  dis- 
tended with  a  wild  mirth  and  careless  jollity,  that  made 
me  think  them  really  the  docile,  good-natured  animals 
they  are  said  to  be,  now  glared  on  the  prostrate  overseer 
with  the  infuriated  rage  of  aroused  beasts  when  spring- 
ing on  their  prey. 

"You  can't  come  the  possum  here.     Get  up,  you 

hound,"  said  the  Colonel,  rising  and  striking  the  bleed- 
ing man  with  his  foot. 

The  fellow  raised  himself  on  one  elbow  and  gazed 
around  with  a  stupid,  vacant  look.  His  eye  wandered 
unsteadily  for  a  moment  from  the  Colonel  to  the  throng 
of  cloudy  faces  in  the  doorway;  then,  his  recent  expe- 
rience flashing  upon  him,  he  shrieked  out,  clinging  wildly 
to  the  skirts  of  the  octoroon  woman,  who  was  standing 
near,  "  Keep  off  them  cursed  hounds — keep  them  off,  I 
say— they'll  kill  me !  they'H  kiU  me !" 

One  glance  satisfied  me  that  his  mind  was  wandering. 
The  blow  on  the  head  had  shattered  his  reason,  and 
made  the  strong  man  less  than  a  child. 

"  You  wont  be  killed  yet,"  said  the  Colonel.  "You've 
a  small  account  to  settle  mth  me  before  you  reckon  with 
the  devil." 

At  this  moment  the  dark  crowd  in  the  doorway  parted, 
and  Jake  entered,  his  arm  bound  up  and  in  a  shng. 

"  Jake,  come  here,"  said  the  Colonel;  "this  man  would 
have  killed  you.     What  shall  we  do  with  him?" 

"'Taint  for  a  darky  to  say  dat,  massa,"  said  the  negro, 
evidently  unaccustomed  to  the  rude  administration  of 


PLANTATION    DISCIPLINE.  157 

justice  wliicK  the  Colonel  was  about  to  inaugurate;  "ho 
did  wuss  dan  dat  to  Sam,  massa — he  orter  STVTiig  for 
shootin'  him." 

"  That's  my  affaii-;  we'll  settle  your  account  first,"  re- 
phed  the  Colonel. 

The  darky  looked  undecidedly  at  his  master,  and  then 
at  the  overseer,  who,  overcome  by  weakness,  had  sunk 
again  to  the  floor.  The  httle  humanity  in  him  was  evi- 
dently struggling  with  his  hatred  of  Moye  and  his  desire 
for  revenge,  when  the  old  nurse  yelled  out  fi"om  among 
the  crowd,  "  Gib  him  fifty  lashes,  Massa  Davy,  and  den 
you  wash  him  down.*  Be  a  man,  Jake,  and  say  dat." 
.  Jake  still  hesitated,  and  when  at  last  he  was  about  to 
speak,  the  eye  of  the  octoroon  caught  his,  and  chained 
the  words  to  his  tongue,  as  if  by  magnetic  power. 

"Do  you  say  that,  boys;"  said  the  Colonel,  turning  to 
the  other  negroes;  "shall  he  have  fifty  lashes  ?" 

"  Yas,  massa,  fifty  lashes — gib  de  ole  debble  fifty 
lashes,"  shouted  about  fifty  voices. 

"  He  shall  have  them,"  quietly  said  the  master. 

The  mad  shout  that  followed,  which  was  more  hke 
the  yell  of  demons  than  the  cry  of  men,  seemed  to 
arouse  Moye  to  a  sense  of  his  real  position.  Sprmging 
to  his  feet,  he  gazed  wildly  around ;  then,  sinking  on  his 
knees  before  the  octoroon,  and  clutching  the  folds  of  her 
dress,  he  shrieked,  "  Save  me,  good  lady,  save  me !  as 
you  hope  for  mercy,  save  me !" 

*  Eeferring  to  the  common  practice  of  bathing  the  raw  and  bleeding  backs  of 
the  punished  Blaves  with  a  strong  solution  of  salt  and  water. 


158  AMONa   THE   PIN^ES. 

Not  a  muscle  of  her  face  moved,  but,  turning  to  the 
excited  crowd,  she  mildly  said,  "  Fifty  lashes  would  kill 
him.  Jake  does  not  say  that — your  master  leaves  it 
to  him,  and  he  will  not  whip  a  d}'ing  man — will  you, 
Jake  ?" 

"  No,  ma'am — not — not  ef  you  gwo  agin  it,"  repHed 
the  negro,  with  very  evident  reluctance. 

"  But  he  whipped  Sam,  ma'am,  when  Sam  war  nearer 
dead  than  he  am,"  said  Jim,  whose  station  as  house- 
servant  allowed  him  a  certain  freedom  of  speech. 

"  Because  he  was  brutal  to  Sam,  should  you  be  brutal 
to  him  ?  Can  you  expect  me  to  tend  you  when  you 
are  sick,  if  you  beat  a  dying  man  ?  Does  Pompey  say 
you  should  do  such  things  ?" 

"No,  good  ma'am,"  said  the  old  preacher,  stepping 
out,  with  the  freedom  of  an  old  servant,  from  the  black 
mass,  and  taking  his  stand  beside  me  in  the  open  space 
left  for  the  "  w'ite  folks ;"  "de  ole  man  diisn't  say  dat, 
ma'am ;  he  tell  'em  dat  de  Lord  want  'em  to  forgib  dar 
en'mies — to  lub  dem  dat  pursyskute  'em;"  and,  turning 
to  the  Colonel,  he  added,  as  he  passed  his  hand  meekly 
over  his  thin  crop  of  white  wool  and  thi'ew  his  long 
heel  back,  "  ef  massa'll  'low  me  I'll  talk  to  'em." 

"  Fire  away,"  said  the  Colonel,  with  evident  chagrin. 

"  This  is  a  nigger  trial ;  if  you  want  to  screen  the  d 

hound  you  can  do  it." 

"  I  dusn't  want  to  screed  him,  massa,  but  I'se  bery 
ole  and  got  soon  to  gwo,  and  I  dusn't  want  de  blessed 
Lord  to  ax  me  wen  I  gets  dar  why  I  'lowed  dese  pore 


PLANTATION   DISCIPLINE.  159 

ig'nant  brack  folks  to  mudder  a  man  'fore  my  "bery  face. 
I  toted  yoii,  massa,  'fore  you  cud  gwo,  I'se  worked  for 
you  till  I  can't  work  no  more ;  and  I  dusn't  want  to  teU 
de  Lord  dat  ray  massa  let  a  brudder  man  be  killed  in 
cole  blood." 

"  He  is  no  brother  of  mine,  you  old  fool ;  preach  to 
the  nigs,  don't  preach  to  me,"  said  the  Colonel,  stifling 
his  displeasure,  and  striding  off  through  the  black  crowd, 
without  saying  another  word. 

Here  and  there  in  the  dark  mass  a  face  showed  signs 
of  relenting ;  but  much  the  larger  number  of  that  strange 
jury,  had  the  question  been  put,  would  have  voted — 

DEATH. 

The  old  preacher  turned  to  them  as  the  Colonel  passed 
out,  and  said,  "My  chil'ren,  would  you  hab  dis  man 
whipped,  so  weak,  so  dyin'  as  he  am,  ef  he  war  brack?" 

"  No,  not  ef  he  war  a  darky — fer  den  he  wouldn't  be 
such  an  ole  debble,"  replied  Jim,  and  about  a  dozen  of 
the  other  negroes. 

"  De  w'ite  aint  no  vmss  dan  de  brack — we'm  all  'like 
— pore  sinners  all  on  us.  De  Lord  wudn't  whip  a 
w'ite  man  no  sooner  dan  a  brack  one — He  tinks  de  w'ite 
juss  so  good  as  de  brack  (good  Southern  doctrine,  I 
thought).  De  porest  w'ite  trash  wudn't  strike  a  man 
wen  he  war  down." 

"  We'se  had  'nough  of  dis,  ole  man,"  said  a  large, 
powerful  negro  (one  of  the  drivers),  stepping  forward, 

and,  regardless  of  the  presence  of  Madam  P and 

myself,  pressing  close  to  where  the  overseer  lay,  now 


160  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

totally  unconscious  of  what  was  passing  around  liiin. 
"  You  needn't  preach  no  more ;  de  Gunnel  hab  say 
we'm  to  whip  ole  Moye,  and  we'se  gwine  to  do  it, 
by ." 

I  felt  my  fingers  closing  on  the  palm  of  my  hand,  and 
in  a  second  nK)re  they  might  have  cut  the  darky's  pro- 
file, had  not  Madam  P cried  out,  "  Stand  back,  you 

impudent  fellow :  say  another  word,  and  I'll  have  you 
whipped  on  the  spot." 

"  De  Gunnel  am  my  massa,  ma'am — he  say  ole  Moye 
am  to  be  whipped,  and  I'se  gwine  to  do  it — shore." 

I  have  seen  a  storm  at  sea — I  have  seen  the  tempest 
tear  up  great  trees — I  have  seen  the  hghtning  strike  in 
a  dark  night — but  I  never  saw  any  thing  half  so  grand, 
half  so  terrible,  as  the  glance  and  tone  of  that  woman  as 
she  cried  out,  "  Jim,  take  this  man — give  him  fifty  lashes 
this  instant." 

Quicker  than  thought,  a  dozen  darkies  were  on  him. 
His  hands  and  feet  were  tied  and  he  was  imder  the 
whipping-rack  in  a  second.  Turning  then  to  the  other 
negroes,  the  brave  woman  said,  "Some  of  you  carry 
Moye  to  the  house,  and  you,  Jim,  see  to  this  man — 
if  fifty  lashes  don't  make  him  sorry,  give  him  fifty 
more." 

This  summary  change  of  programme  was  silently  ac- 
quiesced in  by  the  assembled  negroes,  but  many  a  cloudy 
face  scowled  sulkily  on  the  octoroon,  as,  leaning  on  my 
arm,  she  followed  Junius  and  the  other  negroes,  who 
bore  Moye  to  the  mansion.     It  was  plain  that  under 


PLANTATION   DISCIPLINE.  161 

thosG  dark  ilices  a  fire  was  burning  that  a  breath  would 
have  fanned  into  a  flame. 

We  entered  the  house  by  its  rear  door,  and  placed 
Moye  in  a  small  room  on  ijie  ground  floor.  He  was 
laid  on  a  bed,  and  stunulants  being  given  him,  his 
senses  and  reason  shortly  returned.  His  eyes  opened, 
and  his  real  position  seemed  suddenly  to  flash  upon 

him,  for  he  turned  to  Madam  P ,  and  in  a  weak 

voice,  half  choked  with  emotion,  faltered  out :  "  May 
God  in  heaven  bless  ye,  ma'am  ;  'God  will  bless  ye  for 
bein'  so  good  to  a  wicked  man  hke  me.  I  doesn't  de- 
sarve  it,  but  ye  woant  leave  me — ye  woant  leave  me — 
they'll  kill  me  ef  ye  do  !" 

"  Don't  fear,"  said  the  Madam ;  "  you  shall  have  a 
fair  trial.     ISTo  harm  shall  come  to  you  here." 

"  Thank  ye,  thank  ye,"  gasped  the  overseer,  raising 
himself  on  one  arm,  and  clutching  at  the  lady's  hand, 
which  he  tried  to  lift  to  his  hps. 

"  Don't   say  any  more  now,"   said  Madam  P , 

quietly ;  "  you  must  rest  and  be  quiet,  or  you  wont  get 
weU." 

"  Shan't  I  get  well  ?     Oh,  I  can't  die — I  can't  die 

710W  /" 

The  lady  made  a  soothing  reply,  and  giving  him  an 
opiate,  and  arranging  the  bedding  so  that  he  might  rest 
more  easily,  she  left  the  room  with  me. 

As  we  stepped  into  the  hall,  I  saw  through  the  fi*ont 
door,  which  was  open,  the  horses  harnessed  in  readiness 
for  "  meeting,"  and  the  Colonel  pacing  to  and  fro  -on 


162  a:,ioxg  the  pmES. 

the  piazza,  smoking  a  cigar.  He  perceived  us,  and 
halted  in  the  doorway.    . 

"  So  you've  brought  that  d bloodthirsty  villain 

mto  my  house  !"  he  said  to  Madam  P in  a  tone  of 

strong  displeasure. 

"  How  could  I  help  it  ?  The  negroes  are  mad,  and 
would  kill  him  anywhere  else,"  repHed  the  lady,  with  a 
certain  self-confidence  that  showed  she  knew  her  power 
over  the  Colonel. 

"  Vflij  should  ^ou  interfere  between  them  and  him  ? 
Has  he  not  insulted  you  enough  to  make  you  let  him 
alone?  Can  you  so  easily  forgive  his  taunting  you 
with" —  He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  v/hat  I 
had  learned  on  the  previous  evening  from  the  old  nurse 
gave  me  a  clue  to  its  meaning.  A  red  flame  flushed  the 
face  and  neck  of  the  octoroon  woman — her  eyes  literally 
flashed  fire,  and  her  very  breath  seemed  to  come  with 
pain  ;  in  a  moment,  however,  this  emotion  passed  away, 
and  she  quietly  said,  "  Let  me  settle  that  m  my  own 
way.  He  has  served  you  well — you  have  nothing 
against  him  that  the  law  will  not  punish." 

"  By ,  you  are  the  most  unaccountable  woman  I 

ever  knew,"  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  striding  up  and 
down  the  piazza,  the  angry  feelmg  passing  from  his 
face,  and  giving  way  to  a  mingled  expression  of  wonder 
and  admiration.  The  conversation  was  here  interrupted 
by  Jim,  who  just  then  made  his  appearance,  hat  in 
hand. 

"  AVell,  Jim,  what  is  it  ?"  asked  his  master. 


PLANTATION   DISCIPLINE.  163 

"  "We'se  gib'n  Sam  twenty  laslies,  ma'am,  but  lie  beg 
so  hard,  and  say  lie  so  sorry,  dat  I  tele  him  I'd  ax  you 
'fore  we  gabe  him  any  more." 

"  Well,  if  he's  sorry,  that's  enough  ;  but  tell  him  he'll 
get  fifty  another  time,"  said  the  lady. 

"  What  Sam  is  it  ?"  asked  the  Colonel. 

"  Big  Sam,  the  driver,"  said  Jim. 

"  Why  was  he  whipped  ?" 

"  He  told  me  yoifj  were  his  master,  and  insisted  on 
whipping  Moye,"  replied  the  lady. 

"  Did  he  dare  to  do  that  ?  Give  him  a  hundred,  Jim, 
not  one  less,"  roared  the  Colonel. 

"  Yas,  massa,"  said  Jim,  turning  to  go. 

The  lady  looked  significantly  at  the  negro  and  shook 
her  head,  but  said  nothing,  and  he  left. 

"  Come,  Alice,  it  is  nearly  time  for  nieeting,  and  I 
want  to  stop  and  see  Sandy  on  the  way." 

"  I  reckon  I  wont  go,"  said  Madam  P . 

"  You  stay  to  take  care  of  Moye,  I  suppose,"  said  the 
Colonel,  with  a  slight  sneer. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  lady,  "  he  is  badly  hurt,  and  in 
dano-er  of  inflammation." 

"  Well,  suit  yourself.     Mr.  K ,  come,  we^ll  go — 

you'll  meet  some  of  the  7iatives.'''* 

The  lady  retired  to  the  house,  and  the  Colonel  and  I 
were  soon  ready.  The  driver  brought  the  horses  to  the 
door,  and  as  we  were  about  to  eziter  the  carriage,  I 
noticed  Jim  taking  his  accustomed  seat  on  the  box. 

"  Who's  looking  after  Sam  ?"  asked  the  Colonel. 
6 


164  AMONG   THE   PIXE&. 

"  Nobody,  Gunnel ;  de  ma'am  leff  him  gwo." 

"  How  dare  you  disobey  me  ?  Didn't  I  tell  you  to 
give  him  a  hundred  ?'' 

"  Yas,  massa,  but  de  ma'am  tole  me  notter." 

"  "Well,  another  time  you  mind  what  I  say — do  you 
hear  ?"  said  his  master. 

"  Yas,  massa,"  said  the  negro,  with  a  broad  grin,  "  I 
allers  do  dat." 

"  You  never  do  it,  you  d nigger ;  I  ought  to 

have  flogged  you  long  ago." 

Jim  said  nothing,  but  gave  a  quiet  laugh,  showing  no 
sort  of  fear,  and  we  entered  the  carriage.  I  afterward 
learned  from  him  that  he  had  never  been  whipped,  and 
that  all  the  negroes  on  the  plantation  obeyed  the  lady 
when,  which  was  seldom,  her  orders  came  in  conflict 
with  their  master's.  They  knew  if  they  did  not,  the 
Colonel  would  whip  them. 

As  we  rode  slowly  along  the  Colonel  said  to  me, 
"  Well,  you  see  that  the  best  people  have  to  flog  niggers 
sometimes." 

"  Yes,  I  should  have  given  that  fellow  a  hundred 
lashes*  at  least.  I  think  the  efiect  on  the  others  would 
have  been  bad  if  Madam  P had  not  had  him  flog- 
ged." 

"  But  she  generally  goes  against  it.  I  don't  remem- 
ber of  her  having  it  done  in  ten  years  before.  And  yet, 
though  I've  the  worst  gang  of  niggers  in  the  district, 
they  obey  her  like  so  many  children." 

''  Why  is  that  ?" 


PLAInTATIOX  disciplixe.  165 

"  Well,  there's  a  kind  of  magnetism  about  her  that 
makes  everybody  love  her  ;  and  then  she  tends  them  in 
sickness,  and  is  constantly  doing  little  things  for  their 
comfort ;  that  attaches  them  to  her.  She  is  an  extraor- 
dinary woman." 

"  Whose  negroes  are  those,  Colonel  ?"  I  asked,  as, 
after  a  while,  we  passed  a  gang  of  about  a  dozen,  at 
work  near  the  roadside.  Some  were  tending  a  tar-kiln, 
and  some  engaged  in  cutting  into  fire-wood  the  pines 
which  a  recent  tornado  had  thrown  to  the  ground. 

"  They  are  mine,  but  they  are  working  now  for  them- 
selves. I  let  such  as  will,  work  on  Sunday.  I  furnish 
the  "  raw  material,"  and  pay  them  for  what  they  do,  as 
I  would  a  white  man." 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  make  them  go  to  hear 
the  old  preacher ;  couldn't  they  learn  something  from 
him  ?" 

"  ISTot  much ;  Old  Pomp  never  read  any  thing  but 
the  Bible,  and  he  doesn't  understand  that ;  besides,  they 
can't  be  tauirht.  You  can't  make  '  a  whistle  out  of  a 
pig's  tail ;'  you  can't  make  a  nigger  into  a  white  man." 

Just  here  the  carriage  stopped  suddenly,  and  we 
looked  out  to  see  the  cause.  The  road  by  which  we 
had  come  was  a  mere  opening  through  the  pines ;  no 
fences  separated  it  from  the  wooded  land,  and  being 
seldom  travelled,  the  track  was  scarcely  visible.  In 
many  places  it  widened  to  a  hundred  feet,  but  in  others 
tall  trees  had  grown  up  on  its  opposite  sides,  leaving 
scarcely  width   enough  for   a  single  carriage   to  pnss 


166  a:mong  the  fixes. 

along.  In  one  of  these  narrow  passages,  just  before  us, 
a  queer-looking  vehicle  had  upset,  and  scattered  its  con- 
tents in  the  road.  We  had  no  alternative  but  to  wait 
till  it  got  out  of  the  way ;  and  we  all  alighted  to  recon- 
noitre. 

The  vehicle  was  a  httle  larger  than  an  ordinary  hand- 
cart, and  was  mounted  on  wheels  that  had  probably 
-served  their  time  on  a  Boston  dray  before  commencing 
their  travels  in  Secessiondom.  Its  box  of  pine  board- 
ing and  its  shafts  of  rough  oak  poles  v/ere  evidently  of 
Southern  home  manufacture.  Attached  to  it  by  a  rope 
harness,  with  a  primitive  bridle  of  decidedly  original 
construction,  was — :not  a  horse,  nor  a  mule,  nor  even 
an  alligator,  but  a  "  three-year-old  heifer." 

The  wooden  linch-pin  of  the  cart  had  given  way,  and 
the  weight  of  a  half-dozen  barrels  of  turpentine  had 
thrown  the  box  off  its  balance,  and  rolled  the  contents 
about  in  all  directions. 

The  appearance  of  the  proprietor  of  this  nondescript 
vehicle  was  in  keeping  with  his  establishment.  Ilis 
coat,  which  was  much  too  short  in  the  waist  and  much 
too  long  in  the  skirts,  was  of  the  conmion  reddish  gray 
linsey,  and  his  nether  garments,  which  stopped  just  be- 
low the  knees,  were  of  the  same  material.  From  there 
downwards,  he  wore  only  the  covering  that  is  said  to 
have  been  the  fashion  in  Paradise  before  Adam  took  to 
fig-leaves.  His  hat  had  a  rim  broader  than  a  political 
platform,  and  his  skin  a  color  half  way  between  tobacco- 
juice  and  a  tallow  candle. 


FLANTATION   DISCIPLINE.  167 

"  Wal,  Cunnul,  how  dy'ge  ?"  said  the  stranger,  as  we 
stepped  from  the  carriage. 

"  Yery  well,  Ned ;  how  are  you?" 

"  Purty  wal,  Cunnul ;  had  the  nagur  lately,  right 
smart,  but'm  git  tin'  'roun'." 

"  You're  in  a  bad  fix  here,  I  see.     Can  Jim  help  you  ?" 

*'  YTal,  p'raps  he  moight.     Jim,  how  dy'ge  ?" 

"  Sort  o'  smart,  ole  feller.     But  come,  stir  yerseff ;  . 
we   want  ter   gwo   'long,"  replied  Jim,  with   a  lack 
of  courtesy  that   showed  he  regarded  the  white  man 
as  altogether  too   "trashy"  to  be  treated  with  much 
ceremony. 

With  the  aid  of  Jim,  a  new  linch-pin  was  soon  whit- 
tled out,  the  turpentine  rolled  on  to  the  cart,  and  the 
vehicle  put  in  a  moving  condition. 

"  Where  are  you  hauling  your  turpentine  ?"  asked 
the  Colonel. 

"  To  Sam  Beh's,  at  the  'Boro'." 

"  What  will  he  pay  you  ?" 

"  Wal,  I've  four  barr'ls  of  '  dip,'  and  tu  of  *  hard.' 
For  the  hull,  I  reckon  he'll  give  three  dollar  a  barr'l." 

"  By  tale  ?" 

"  Xo,  for  tu  hun'red  and  eighty  pound." 

"  Well,  TU  give  you  two  dollars  and  a  half,  by 
weight." 

"  Can't  take  it,  Cunnel ;  must  get  three  dollar." 

"  What,  will  you  go  sixty  miles  with  this  team,  aad 
waste  five  or  six  days,  for  fifty  cents  on  six  barrels — 
three  dollars  I" 


IGS  AM02y:G   THE    PIN'ES. 

.  "  Can't  'ford  the  time,  Gunnel,  but  must  git  three  dol- 
lar a  barr'l." 

"  That  fellow  is  a  specimen  of  our  *  natives,'  "  said 
the  Colonel,  as  we  resumed  our  seats  in  the  carriage. 
"  You'll  see  more  of  them  before  we  get  back  to  the 
plantation." 

"  He  puts  a  young  cow  to  a  decidedly  original  use," 
I  remarked. 

"  Oh  no,  not  original  here ;  the  ox  and  the  cow  w^ith 
us  are  both  used  for  labor." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  cows  are  generally 
worked  here  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  do.  Our  breeds  are  good  for  nothing 
as  milkers,  and  we  put  them  to  the  next  best  use.  I 
never  have  cow's  milk  on  my  plantation." 

"  You  don't !  I  could  have  sworn  it  was  in  my  coffee 
this  mornins;." 

"  I  wouldn't  trust  you  to  buy  brandy  for  me,  if  your 
organs  of  taste  are  not  keener  than  that.  It  was  goat's 
milk." 

*'  Then  how  do  you  get  your  butter  ?" 

"From  the  IN'orth.  I've  had  mine  from  my  New 
York  factors  for  over  ten  years." 

We  soon  arrived  at  Sandy,  the  negro-hunter's,  and 
halted  to  allow  the  Colonel  to  inquire  as  to  the  health 
of  his  fimily  of  children  and  dogs — the  latter  the  less 
nimierous,  but,  if  I  might  judge  by  appearances,  the 
more  valued  of  the  two. 


THE   KEGr.O    HU^'TEK.  1G9 


CHAPTER  Yin. 


THE    NEGRO    HUXTER. 


Alighting  from  tlie  carriage,  I  entered,  with  my 
host,  the  cabin  of  the  negro-hunter.  So  far  as  external 
appearance  went,  the  shanty  was  a  shght  improvement 
on  the  "  Mills  House,"  described  in  a  previous  chapter ; 
but  internally,  it  was  hard  to  say  whether  it  resembled 
more  a  ^^ig-sty  or  a  dog-kennel.  The  floor  was  of  the 
bare  earth,  covered  in  patches  with  loose  plank  of  vari- 
ous descriptions,  and  httered  over  with  billets  of  "  hght- 
wood,"  unwashed  cooking  utensils,  two  or  three  cheap 
stools,  a  pine  settee — made  from  the  rough  log  and  hewn 
smooth  on  the  upjDer  side — a  full-grown  bloodhound, 
two  younger  canines,  and  nine  half-clad  juveniles  of  the 
flax-head  species.  Over  against  the  fire-place  three  low 
beds  afforded  sleeping  accommodation  to  nearly  a  dozen 
human  beings  (of  assorted  sizes,  and  dove-tailed  together 
with  heads  and  feet  alternating),  and  in  the  opposite  cor- 
ner a  lower  couch,  whose  finer  furnishings  told  plainly 
it  was  the  pecuhar  property  of  the  "wee  ones"  of  the 
family — a  mother's  tenderness  for  her  youngest  thus 
cropping  out  even  in  the  midst  of  filth  and  degrada- 
tion— furnished  quarters  for  an  unwashed,  uncombed, 
unclothed,  saffi*on-hued  httle  feUow  about  fifteen  months 

old,  and — the  dog  "  Lady."     She  was  of  a  dark  hazel 
8 


170  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

color — a  cross  between  a  pointer  and  a  bloodhound — and 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  creatures  I  ever  saw.  Her 
neck  and  breast  were  bound  about  with  a  coarse  cotton 
cloth,  saturated  with  blood,  and  emitting  a  strong  odor 
of  bad  whiskey;  and  her  whole  appearance  showed 
the  desperate  nature  of  the  encounter  with  the  over- 
seer. 

The  nine  young  democrats  who  were  lolling  about  the 
room  in  various  attitudes,  rose  as  we  entered,  and  with 
a  familiar  but  rather  deferential  "How-dy'ge,"  to  the 
Colonel,  huddled  around  and  stared  at  me  with  open 
mouths  and  distended  eyes,  as  if  I  were  some  strange  be- 
ing, dropped  from  another  sphere.  The  two  eldest  were 
of  the  male  gender,  as  was  shown  by  their  clothes — cast- 
off  suits  of  the  inevitable  reddish-gray,  much  too  large, 
and  out  at  the  elbows  and  the  knees — but  the  sex  of  the 
others  I  was  at  a  loss  to  determine,  for  they  wore  only 
a  single  robe,  reaching,  hke  their  mother's,  from  the  neck 
to  the  knees.  Not  one  of  the  occupants  of  the  cabin 
boasted  a  pair  of  stockings,  but  the  father  and  mother 
did  enjoy  the  luxury  of  shoes — coarse,  stout  brogans, 
untanned,  and  of  the  color  of  the  legs  which  they  en- 
cased. 

"Well,  Sandy,  how  is  'Lady?'"  asked  the  Colonel,  as 
he  stepped  to  the  bed  of  the  wounded  dog. 

"Reckon  she's  a  goner,  Cunnel;  the  d Yankee 

orter  swing  fur  it." 

This  intimation  that  the  overseer  was  a  country- 
man of  mine,  took  me  by  surprise,  nothing  I  had  ob- 


THE   KEGEO    HUNTER.  lYl 

served  in  bis  speech  or  manners  having  indicated  it,  but 
I  consoled  myself  with  the  reflection  that  Connecticut 
had  reared  him — as  she  makes  wooden  hams  and  nut- 
megs— ex]3ressly  for  the  Southern  market. 

"  He  shall  swing  for  it,  by .     But  are  you  sure 

the  slut  will  die  ?" 

"IsTot  shore,  Gunnel,  but  she  can't  stand,  and  the 
blood  will  run.  I  reckon  a  hun'red  and  fifty  ar  done  for 
thar,  sartin." 

"  D the  money — I'll  make  that  right.     Go  to  the 

house  and  get  some  omtment  from  Madam — she  can  save 
her — go  at  once,"  said  my  host. 

"I  will,  Gunnel,"  replied  the  dirt-eater,  taking  his 
broad-brim  from  a  wooden  peg,  and  leisurely  leaving  the 
cabin.  Making  our  way  then  over  the  piles  of  rubbish 
and  crowds  of  children  that  cumbered  the  apartment, 
the  Colonel  and  I  returned  to  the  carriacce. 

"  Dogs  must  be  rare  in  this  region,"  I  remarked,  as 
we  resumed  our  seats. 

"Yes,  well-trained  bloodhounds  are  scarce  every- 
where. That  dog  is  well  worth  a  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars." 

"  The  business  of  nigger-catching,  then,  is  brisk,  just 
now  ?" 

"  No,  not  more  brisk  than  usual.  We  always  have 
more  or  less  runaways." 

"  Do  most  of  them  take  to  the  swamps  ?" 

"  Yes,  nine  out  of  ten  do,  though  now  and  then  one 
gets  off  on  a  trading  vessel.     It  is  almost  impossible  for 


1Y2  AMONG    THE   riXES. 

a  strange  nigger  to  make  his  way  by  land  from  here  to 
the  free  states.'' 

"  Then  why  do  you  Carolinians  make  such  an  outcry 
about  the  violation  of  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law  ?" 

"  For  the  same  reason  that  dogs  quarrel  over  a  naked 
bone.  We  should  be  unhappy  if  we  couldn't  growl  at 
the  Yankees,"  replied  the  Colonel,  laughing. 

"  TFe,  you  say;  you  mean  by  that,  the  hundred  and 
eighty  thousand  nabobs  who  own  five-sixths  of  your 
slaves  ?"* 

"Yes,  I  mean  them,  and  the  three  millions  of  poor 
whites — the  ignorant,  half-starved,  lazy  vermin  you  have 
just  seen.     TJiey  are  the  real  basis  of  our  Southern  oh- 


*  The  foregoing  statistics  are  correct.  That  small  number  of  slave-holders  sus- 
tains the  system  of  slavery,  and  has  caused  this  terrible  rebellion.  They  are, 
almost  to  a  mdu,  rebels  and  secessionists,  and  we  may  cover  the  South  with 
armies,  and  keep  a  file  of  soldiers  upon  every  plantation,  and  not  smother  this 
insurrection,  uuless  we  break  down  the  power  of  that  class.  Their  wealth  gives 
them  their  power,  and  their  wealth  is  in  their  slaves.  Free  their  negroes  by  an 
act  of  emancipation,  or  conflscation,  and  the  rebellion  will  crumble  to  pieces  in  a 
day.    Omit  to  do  it,  and  it  will  last  till  doomsday. 

The  power  of  this  dominant  class  once  broken,  with  landed  property  at  the 
South  more  equally  divided,  a  new  order  of  things  will  arise  there.  Where  now, 
with  their  large  plantations,  not  one  acre  in  ten  is  tilled,  a  system  of  small  farms 
will  spring  into  existence,  and  the  whole  country  be  covered  with  cultivation. 
The  six  hundi-ed  thousand  men  who  have  gone  there  to  fight  our  battles,  will  see 
the  amazing  fertility  of  the  Southern  soil — into  which  the  seed  is  thro'vvn  and 
springs  up  without  labor  into  a  bountiful  harvest — and  many  of  them,  if  slavery 
is  crushed  out,  will  remain  there.  Thus  a  new  element  will  be  introduced  into 
the  South,  an  element  that  will  speedily  make  it  a  loyal,  prosperous,  and  intelli- 
gent section  of  the  Union. 

I  would  interfere  with  no  one's  rights,  but  a  rebel  in  arms  against  his  country 
has  no  rights ;  all  that  he  has  "  is  confiscate."  Will  the  loyal  people  of  the  North 
submit  to  be  ground  to  tlie  earth  with  taxes  to  pay  the  expenditures  of  a  war, 
brought  upon  them  by  these  Southern  oligarchists,  while  the  traitors  are  left  in 
undisturbed  possession  of  every  thing,  and  even  their  slaves  are  exempted  from 
taxation  ?  It  were  well  that  our  legislators  should  ask  this  question  now,  and 
not  wait  till  it  is  a>kcd  of  them  bv  tue  people. 


THE   NEGKO   HITNTEK.  173 

garcliy,  as  you  call  it,"  continued  my  host,  still  laugh- 


ing. 


"  I  thought  the  negroes  were  the  serfs  in  your  feudal 
system?" 

"  Both  the  negroes  and  the  poor  whites  are  the  serfs, 
but  the  white  trash  are  its  real  support.  Tlieir  votes 
gi\'e  the  small  minority  of  slave-owners  all  their  power. 
You  say  we  control  the  Union.  We  do,  and  we  do  it 
by  the  votes  of  these  people,  who  are  as  far  below  our 
niggers  as  the  niggers  are  below  decent  white  men. 
Who  that  reflects  that  this  country  has  been  governed 

for  fifty  years  by  such  scum,  would  give  a  d for  re- 

pubhcan  institutions  ?" 

"  It  does  speak  badly  for  your  institutions.  A  system 
that  reduces  nearly  half  of  a  white  population  to  the 
level  of  slaves  cannot  stand  in  this  country.  The  late 
election  shows  that  the  power  of  your  'white  trash'  is 
broken." 

"  Well,  it  does,  that's  a  fact.  K  the  states  should  re- 
main together,  the  West  would  in  future  control  the 
Union.  We  see  that,  and  are  therefore  determined  on 
dissolution.     It  is  our  only  way  to  keep  our  niggers." 

"The  West  will  have  to  consent  to  that  project.  My 
opinion  is,  your  present  pohcy  will,  if  carried  out,  free 
every  one  of  your  slaves." 

"  I  dont  see  how.  Even  if  we  are  put  down — which 
we  cannot  be — and  are  held  in  the  Union  against  our 
will,  government  cannot,  by  the  constitution,  interfere 
with  slavery  in  the  states." 


174  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

« 

"I  admit  that,  but  it  can  confiscate  tlie  property  of 
traitors.  Every  large  slave-holder  is  to-day,  at  heart,  a 
traitor.  If  this  movement  goes  on,  you  will  commit 
overt  acts  against  the  government,  and  in  self-defence  it 
viR  punish  treason  by  taking  from  you  the  means  of 
future  mischief." 

"  The  Republicans  and  Abohtionists  might  do  that  if 
they  had  the  power,  but  nearly  one-half  of  the  North  is 
on  our  side,  and  will  not  fight  us." 

"  Perhaps  so ;  but  if  I  had  this  thing  to  manage,  I 
would  put  you  down  without  fighting." 

"  How  would  you  do  it — by  preaching  abolition  where 
even  the  niggers  would  mob  you  ?  There's  not  a  slave 
in  all  South  Carolina  but  would  shoot  Garrison  or  Gree- 
ley on  sight." 

"  That  may  be,  but  if  so,  it  is  because  you  keep  them 
in  ignorance.  Build  a  free-school  at  every  cross-road, 
and  teach  the  poor  whites,  and  what  would  become  of 
slavery  ?  If  these  people  were  on  a  par  with  the  farmers 
of  New  England,  would  it  last  for  an  hour  ?  Would 
they  not  see  that  it  stands  in  the  way  of  their  advance- 
ment, and  vote  it  out  of  existence  as  a  nuisance  ?" 

"  Yes,  perhaps  they  would ;  but  the  school-houses  are 
not  at  the  cross-roads,  and,  thank  God,  they  will  not  be 
there  in  this  generation." 

"The  greater  the  pity ;  but  that  which  will  not  flourish 
alongside  of  a  school-house,  cannot,  in  the  nature  of 
things,  outlast  this  century.     Its  time  must  soon  come." 

"  Enough  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.     I'll  risk  the 


THE   NEGliO    HUNTER.  175 

fiiture  of  slavery,  if  the  South,  in  a  body,  goes  out  of  the 
Union." 

"  In  other  -words,  you'll  shut  out  schools  and  knowl- 
edge, in  order  to  keep  slavery  in  existence.  The  Abo- 
litionists claim  it  to  be  a  relic  of  barbarism,  and  you  ad- 
mit it  could  not  exist  with  general  education  among  the 
people." 

"  Of  course  it  could  not.  If  Sandy,  for  instance,  knew 
he  were  as  good  a  man  as  I  am — and  he  would  be  if  he 
were  educated — do  you  suppose  he  would  vote  as  I  tell 
him,  go  and  come  at  my  bidding,  and  hve  on  my  charity? 
No,  sir !  give  a  man  knowledge,  and,  however  poor  he 
may  be,  he'll  act  for  himself." 

"  Then  free-schools  and  general  education  would  de- 
stroy slavery?" 

"  Of  course  they  would.  The  few  cannot  rule  when 
the  many  know  theu'  rights.  K  the  poor  whites  reahzed 
that  slavery  kept  them  poor,  would  they  not  vote  it 
down  ?  But  the  South  and  the  world  are  a  long  way 
off  from  general  education.     When  it  comes  to  that,  we 

J 

shall  need  no  laws,  and  no  slavery,  for  the  millennimn 
wiU  have  arrived." 

"  I'm  glad  you  think  slavery  will  not  exist  during  the 
millennium,"  I  replied,  good-humoredly ;  "  but  how  is  it 
that  you  insist  the  negro  is  naturally  inferior  to  the 
white,  and  still  admit  that  the  '  white  trash,'  are  far  be- 
low the  black  slaves  ?" 

"Education  makes  the  difference.  "We  educate  the 
negro  enough  to  make  him  useful  to  us ;  but  the  poor 


C3      * 


176  AMO^G   THE   PINES. 

white  man  knows  notMng.  He  can  neither  read  noi 
write,  and  not  only  that,  he  is  not  trained  to  any  usefm 
employment.  Sandy,  here,  who  is  a  fau'  specimen  of  the 
tribe,  obtains  his  living  just  hke  an  Indian,  by  hunting, 
fishing,  and  stealing,  interspersed  with  nigger-catching 
His  whole  wealth  consists  of  two  hounds  and  pups ;  his 
house — even  the  wooden  trouo;h  his  miserable  children 

CD 

eat  from — ^belongs  to  me.  If  he  didn't  catch  a  runaway- 
nigger  once  in  a  while,  he  wouldn't  see  a  dime  from  one 
year  to  another." 

"Then  you  have  to  support  this  man  and  his  family?" 

"  Yes,  what  I  don't  give  him  he'  steals.  Half  a  dozen 
others  poach  on  me  in  the  same  way." 

"  Why  don't  you  set  them  at  work  ?" 

"  They  can't  be  made  to  work.  I  have  hired  them 
time  and  again,  hoping  to  make  something  of  them, 
but  I  never  got  one  to  work  more  than  half  a  day  at  a 
time.     It's  theu'  nature  to  lounge  and  to  steal." 

"  Then  why  do  you  keep  them  about  you  ?" 

"  Well,  to  be  candid,  their  presence  is  of  use  in  keep- 
ing the  blacks  in  subordination,  and  they  are  worth  all 
they  cost  me,  because  I  control  their  votes." 

"  I  thought  the  blacks  were  said  to  be  entirely  con- 
tented ?" 

"  JSTo,  not  contented.  I  do  not  claim  that.  I  only  say 
that  they  are  unfit  for  freedom.  I  might  cite  a  hundred 
instances  in  which  it  has  been  their  ruin." 

"  I  have  not  heard  of  one.  It  seems  strans:e  to  me  that 
a  man  who  can  support  another  cannot  support  himself." 


THE   NEGSO   HTJNTES.  177 

"  Oil !  no,  it's  not  at  all  strange.  The  slave  has  Lands, 
and  when  the  master  gives  him  brains,  he  works  well 
enough ;  but  to  support  himself  he  needs  both  hands 
and  brains,  and  he  has  only  hands.  I'll  give  you  a  case 
in  point :  At  Wihnington,  X.  C,  some  yeai'S  ago,  there 
lived  a  negro  by  the  name  of  Jack  Campbell.  He  was 
a  slave,  and  was  employed,  before  the  river  was  deepen- 
ed so  as  to  admit  of  the  passage  of  large  vessels  up  to 
the  town,  in  hghtering  cargoes  to  the  wharves.  He 
hired  his  time  of  his  master,  and  carried  on  business  on 
his  own  account.  Every  one  knew  him,  and  his  charac- 
ter for  honesty,  sobriety,  and  punctuality  stood  so  high 
that  his  word  was  considered  among  merchants  as  good 
as  that  of  the  first  busuiess-men  of  the  jDlace.  Well, 
Jack's  wife  and  childi'en  were  free,  and  he  finally  took 
it  into  his  head  to  be  fi'ee  himself  He  an-anged  with 
his  master  to  purchase  himself  within  a  specified  time,  at 
eight  hundred  dollars,  and  he  was  to  deposit  his  earn- 
ings in  the  hands  of  a  certain  merchant  till  they  reached 
the  required  sima.  He  went  on,  and  in  three  years  had 
accumulated  nearly  seven  hundred  dollars,  when  his 
owner  failed  in  business.  As  the  slave  has  no  rig-ht  of 
property,  Jack's  earnings  belonged  by  law  to  his  master, 
and  they  were  attached  by  the  Xorthern  creditors  (mark 
that,  hy  Korthern  creditors)^  and  taken  to  pay  the  mas- 
ter's debts.  Jack,  too,  was  sold.  His  new  owner  also 
consented  to  his  buying  himself,  at  about  the  price  pre- 
viously agreed  on.  Xothing  discouraged,  he  went  to 
work  again.  Night  and  day  he  toiled,  and  it  surprised 
8* 


178  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

cVQvy  one  to  see  so  mucli  energy  and  firmness  of  purpose 
in  a  negro.  At  last,  after  four  more  years  of  labor,  he 
accomplislied  his  purpose,  and  received  his  free-papers. 
He  had  worked  seven  years — as  long  as  Jacob  toiled  for 
Rachel — for  his  freedom,  and  Hke  the  old  patriarch  he 
found  himself  cheated  at  last.  I  was  present  when  he 
received  his  papers  from  his  owner — a  Mr.  William  H. 
Lippitt,  who  still  resides  at  Wilmington — and  I  shall 
never  forget  the  ecstasy  of  joy  which  he  showed  on  the 
occasion.  He  sung  and  danced,  and  laughed,  and  wept, 
till  my  conscience  smote  me  for  holding  my  own  niggers, 
when  freedom  might  give  them  so  much  happiness. 
Well,  he  went  off  that  day  and  treated  some  friends,  and 
for  three  days  afterward  lay  in  the  gutter,  the  entreaties 
of  his  wife  and  children  having  no  effect  on  him.     He 

swore  he  was  free,  and  would  do  as  he  '  d pleased.' 

He  had  previously  been  a  class-leader  in  the  church,  but 
after  getting  his  freedom  he  forsook  his  previous  asso- 
ciates, and  spent  his  Sundays  and  evenings  in  a  bar-room. 
He  neglected  his  business ;  people  lost  confidence  in  him, 
and  step  by  step  he  went  down,  till  in  five  years  he  sunk 
into  a  wretched  grave.  That  was  the  effect  of  freedom 
on  him,  and  it  would  be  the  same  on  all  of  his  race." 

"It  is  clear,"  I  rephed,  "7ie  could  not  bear  freedom, 
but  that  does  not  prove  he  might  not  have  'endured'  it 
if  he  had  never  been  a  slave.  His  overjoy  at  obtaining 
liberty,  after  so  long  a  struggle  for  it,  led  to  his  excesses 
and  his  ruin.  According  to  your  view,  neither  the  black 
nor  the  poor  white  is  competent  to  take  care  of  himself. 


THE   NEGKO    HU^^TER.  179 

The  Alinlglity,  tlierefore,  has  laid  upon  you  a  trij)le  bur- 
den ;  you  not  only  have  to  provide  for  yourself  and  your 
children,  but  for  two  races  beneath  you,  the  black  and 
the  clay-eater.  The  poor  nigger  has  a  hard  time,  but  it 
seems  to  me  you  have  a  harder  one." 

"  Well,  it's  a  fact,  we  do.  I  often  think  that  if  it  wasn't 
for  the  color  and  the  odor,  I'd  willingly  exchange  places 
with  my  man  Jim." 

The  Colonel  made  this  last  remark  in  a  half-serious, 
half-comic  way,  that  excited  my  risibiUties,  but  before 
I  could  reply,  the  carriage  stopped,  and  Jim,  opening  the 
door,  announced: 

"  We's  har,  massa,  and  de  prayin'  am  gwine  on." 


IfiO  AMONG-   THE    PrN"ES. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE      COTJNTRT      CHURCH. 


Had  we  not  been  absorbed  in  conyersation,  we  might 
have  discovered,  some  tune  previous  to  our  arrival  at  the 
church  door,  that  the  services  had  commenced,  for  tho 
preacher  was  shouting  at  the  top  of  his  kmgs.  He  evi- 
dently thought  the  Lord  either  a  long  way  off,  or  very 
hard  of  hearing.  N'ot  wishing  to  disturb  the  congrega- 
tion while  at  their  devotions,  we  loitered  near  the  door- 
way untn  the  prayer  was  over,  and  in  the  mean  time  I 
glanced  around  the  vicinity. 

The  "meeting-house,"  of  large  unhewn  logs,  was  a 
story  and  a  half  in  height,  and  about  large  enough  to 
seat  comfortably  a  congregation  of  two  hundred  persons. 
It  was  covered  with  shingles,  with  a  roof  projecting 
some  four  feet  over  the  walls,  and  was  surmounted  at 
the  front  gable  by  a  tower,  about  twelve  feet  square. 
This  also  was  built  of  logs,  and  contained  a  bell  "to  call 
the  erring  to  the  house  of  prayer,"  though,  unfortunately, 
all  of  that  character  thereabouts  dwelt  bevond  the  sound 
of  its  voice.  The  building  was  located  at  a  cross-roads, 
about  equally  distant  from  two  httle  hamlets  (the  near- 
er nine  miles  off),  neither  of  which  was  populous  enough 
to  singly  support  a  church  and  a  preacher.     The  trees  in 


THE    COUNTEY    CIIUECII.  ISl 

the  vicinity  Iiad  been  thinned  out,  so  that  carriages  could 
drive  into  the  woods,  and  find  under  the  branches  shelter 
from  the  rain  and  the  sun ;  and  at  the  time  of  my  visit, 
about  twenty  vehicles  of  all  sorts  and  descriptions,  from, 
the  Colonel's  magnificent  barouche  to  the  rude  cart 
drawn  by  a  single  two-horned  quadruped,  filled  the 
openings.  There  was  a  rustic  simplicity  about  the 
whole  scene  that  charmed  me.  The  low,  rude  church, 
the  grand  old  pines  that  towered  in  leafy  magnificence 
around  it,  and  the  soft,  low  wind,  that  sung  a  morning 
hymn  in  the  green,  wavy  woods,  seemed  to  hft  the  soul 
up  to  Him  who  inhabiteth  eternity,  but  who  deigns  to 
visit  the  erring  children  of  men. 

The  preacher  was  about  to  "line  out"  one  of  Watts' 
psalms  when  we  entered  the  church,  but  he  stopped 
short  on  perceiving  us,  and,  bowing  low,  waited  till  we 
had  taken  our  seats.  This  action,  and  the  sycophantic 
air  which  accompanied  it,  disgusted  me,  and  turning  to 
the  Colonel,  I  asked,  jocosely: 

"Do  the  chivalry  exact  so  much  obsequiousness  from 
the  country  clergy  ?  Do  you  require  to  be  bowed  up  to 
heaven  ?" 

In  a  low  voice,  but  high  enough,  I  thought,  for  the 
preacher  to  hear,  for  we  sat  very  near,  the  Colonel  re- 
phed ; 

"He's  a  renegade  Yankee — the  meanest  thing  on 
earth." 

I  said  no  more,  but  entered  into  the  services  as  seri- 
ously as  the   strange  g}Tnnastic  performances  of  the 


182  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

preacher  would  allow  of  my  doing ;  for  lie  was  quite  as 
amusing  as  a  circus  clown. 

With  the  exception  of  the  Colonel's,  and  a  few  other 
pews  in  the  vicinity  of  the  pulpit,  all  of  the  seats  were 
mere  rough  benches,  without  backs,  and  placed  so 
closely  together  as  to  interfere  uncomfortably  with  the 
knees  of  the  sitters.  The  house  was  full,  and  the  con- 
gregation as  attentive  as  any  I  ever  saw.  All  classes 
were  there ;  the  black  serving-man  away  off  by  the  door 
way,  the  poor  white  a  little  higher  up,  the  small  turpen- 
tine-farmer a  httle  higher  still,  and  the  wealthy  planter, 
of  the  class  to  which  the  Colonel  belonged,  on  "the 
highest  seats  of  the  synagogue,"  and  in  close  proximity 
to  the  preacher. 

The  "  man  of  prayer"  was  a  tall,  lean,  raw-boned,  an- 
gular-built individual,  with  a  tliin,  sharp,  hatchet-face,  a 
small  sunken  eye,  and  long,  loose  hair,  brushed  back  and 
falling  over  the  collar  of  a  seedy  black  coat.  He  looked 
like  a  dilapidated  scare-crow,  and  his  pale,  sallow  face, 
and  cracked,  wheezy  voice,  were  in  odd  and  comic 
keeping  with  his  discourse.  Has  text  was :  "  Speak 
unto  the  children  of  Israel,  that  they  go  forward."  And 
addressing  the  motley  gathering  of  poor  whites  and 
small  planters  before  him  as  the  "chosen  people  of 
God,"  he  urged  them  to  press  on  in  the  mad  course 
their  state  had  taken.  It  was  a  poHtical  harangue,  a 
genuine  stump-speech,  but  its  frequent  allusions  to  the 
auditory  as  the  legitimate  childi'en  of  the  old  patriarch, 
and  the  rightful  heirs  of  all  the  promises,  struck  me  as 


THE   COUNTRY   CnUHCH.  183 

out  of  place  iu  a  rural  district  of  South  Carolina,  how- 
ever appropriate  it  might  have  been  in  one  of  the  large 
towns,  before  an  audience  of  merchants  and  traders, 
who  are,  almost  to  a  man,  Jews. 

The  services  over,  the  congregation  slowly  left  the 
church.  Gathered  in  groups  in  front  of  the  "meeting- 
house," they  were  engaged  in  a  general  discussion  of 
the  affairs  of  the  day,  when  the  Colonel  and  I  emerged 
from  the  doorway.  The  better  class  greeted  my  host 
with  considerable  cordiality,  but  I  noticed  that  the  well- 
to-do  small  planters,  who  composed  the  greater  part  of 
the  assemblage,  received  him  with  decided  coolness. 
These  people  were  the  "  N'orth  County  folks,"  on  whom 
the  overseer  had  invoked  a  hanging.  Except  that  their 
clothing  was  more  uncouth  and  ill-fashioned,  and  their 
faces  generally  less  "cute"  of  expression,  they  did  not 
materially  differ  in  appearance  from  the  rustic  citizens 
who  may  be  seen  on  any  pleasant  Sunday  gathered 
around  the  doorways  of  the  rural  meeting-houses  of 
New  England. 

One  of  them,  who  was  leaning  against  a  tree,  quietly 
hghting  a  pipe,  was  a  fair  type  of  the  whole,  and  as  he 
took  a  part  in  the  scene  which  followed,  I  will  describe 
him.  He  was  tall  and  spare,  with  a  swinging,  awkward 
gait,  and  a  wiry,  athletic  frame.  His  hair,  which  he 
wore  almost  as  long  as  a  woman's,  was  coarse  and  black, 
and  his  face  strongly  marked,  and  of  the  precise  color 
of  two  small  rivulets  of  tobacco-juice  that  escaped  from 
the  corners  of  his  mouth.     He  had  an  easy,  self-pos- 


184:  AMONG    THE    PINES. 

sessed  manner,  and  a  careless,  de^dl-may-care  way  about 
him,  that  showed  he  had  measured  his  powers,  and  was 
accustomed  to  "  rough  it"  with  the  world.  He  wore  a 
broadcloth  coat  of  the  fashion  of  some  years  ago,  but 
liis  waistcoat  and  nether  garments  of  the  common,  red- 
dish homespun,  were  loose  and  ill-shaped,  as  if  their 
owner  did  not  waste  thought  on  such  trifles.  His  hat, 
as  shockingly  bad  as  Horace  Greeley's,  had  the  inevi- 
table broad  brim,  and  fell  over  his  face  Hke  a  calash 
awning  over  a  shop-window.  As  I  approached  him 
he  extended  his  hand  with  a  pleasant  "How  are  ye, 
strano-er  ?" 

"  Very  well,"  I  rephed,  returning  his  grasp  with 
equal  warmth,  "  how  are  you  ?" 

"Right  smart,  right  smart,  thank  ye.     You're " 

the  rest  of  the  sentence  was  cut  short  by  a  gleeful  ex- 
clamation from  Jim,  who,  mounted  on  the  box  of  the 
carriage,  which  was  drawn  up  on  the  cleared  plot  in 
front  of  the  meeting-house,  waved  an  open  newspaper 
over  his  head,  and  called  out,  as  he  caught  sight  of  the 
Colonel : 

"Great  news,  massa — great  news  from  Charls'on!" 

(The  darky,  while  we  were  in  church,  had  gone  to  the 
post-ofiice,  some  four  miles  away,  and  got  the  Colonel's 
mail,  which  consisted  of  letters  from  his  N^ew  York  and 
Charleston  factors,  the  Charleston  Courier  and  Mercury 
and  the  Xew  York  Journal  of  Commerce.  The  latter 
sheet,  at  the  date  of  which  I  am  writing,  was  in  wide 
circulation  at  the  South,  its  piety  (!)  and  its  politics 


THE   COUNTJiT   CIIUPwCH.  185 

being  then  calculated  with  mathematical  precision  for 
secession  latitudes.) 

"  ^Yhat  is  it,  Jim  ?"  shouted  his  master.  "  Give  it  to 
us." 

The  darky  had  somehow  learned  to  read,  but  holding 
the  paper  at  arm's  length,  and  throwmg  himself  into  a 
theatrical  attitude,  he  cried  out,  with  any  amount  of 
gesticulation : 

"  De  news  am,  massa,  and  gemmen  and  ladies,  dat  de 
ole  fort  fore  Charls'on  hab  ben  devacuated  by  Major 
Andersin  and  de  sogers,  and  dey  hab  stole  'way  in  de 
dark  night  and  gone  to  Sumter,  whar  dey  can't  be  took ; 
and  dat  de  ole  Gubner  hab  got  out  a  procdemation 
dat  all  dat  don't  lub  de  AberUshen  Yankees  shill  cum 
up  dar  and  clar  'em  out ;  and  de  paper  say  dat  lots  ob 
sogers  hab  cum  from  Georgi  and  Al'bama,  and  'way 
down  Souf,  to  help  'em.  Dis  am  w'at  de  Gurrer  say," 
he  continued,  holding  the  paper  up  to  his  eyes  and  read- 
ing: 'Major  Andersin,  ob  de  United  States  army  hab 
'chieved  de  'stinction  ob  op'ning  cibil  war  'tween  Ameri- 
can .citizens ;  he  hab  desarted  Moulfrie,  and  by  false  fre- 
texts  hab  took  dat  ole  Garrison  and  all  his  millinery 
stores  to  Fort  Sumter." 

"  Get  down,  you  d d  nigger,"  said  the  Colonel, 

laughing,  and  mounting  the  carriage-box  beside  him. 
"You  can't  read.  Old  Garrison  isn't  there — ^he's  the 
d d  ISTorthern  Abolitionist." 

"  I  knows  dat,  Gunnel,  but  see  dar,"  repHed  Jim,  hold- 
ing the  paper  out  to  his  master,  "don't   dat  say  he'm 


186  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

dar  ?  It'in  him  dat  make  all  de  trubble.  P'raps  dis.  mg 
(*,aii"'t  read,  but  ef  dat  aint  readin'  I'd  like  to  know  it !" 

"  Clear  out,"  said  the  Colonel,  now  actually  roaring 
with  laughter;  "it's  the  garrison  of  soldiers  that  the 
Courier  speaks  of,  not  the  Abolitionist." 

"R-ead  it  yoursef,  den,  massa,  I  don't  seed  it  dat 
way." 

Jim  was  altogether  wiser  than  he  apj)eared,  but  while 
equally  as  well  pleased  with  the  news  as  his  master,  he 
was  so  for  an  entirely  different  reason.  In  the  crisis 
which  these  tidings  announced,  he  saw  hope  for  his 
race. 

The  Colonel  then  read  the  paper  to  the  assemblage. 
The  news  was  received  with  a  variety  of  manifestations 
by  the  auditory,  the  larger  portion,  I  thought,  hearing 
it,  as  I  did,  with  sincere  regret. 

"  !N'ow  is  the  time  to  stand  by  the  state,  my  friends," 
said  my  host,  as  he  finished  the  reading.  "  I  hope  every 
man  here  is  ready  to  do  his  duty  by  old  South  Carolina." 

"  Yes,  sar  !  if  she  does  har  duty  by  the  Union.  We'll 
go  to  the  death  for  har  just  so  long  as  she's  in  the  right, 

but  not  a  d d  step  if  she  arn't,"  said  the  long-legged 

native  I  have  introduced  to  the  reader. 

"And  what  have  you  to  say  about  South  Carolina? 
What  does  she  owe  to  youT''  asked  the  Colonel,  turn- 
ing on  the  speaker  with  a  proud  and  angry  look. 

"  More,  a  darned  sight,  than  she'll  pay,  if  ye  cursed 
'ristocrats  run  her  to  h —  as  ye'r  doin'.  She  owes  me, 
and  'bout  ten  as  hkely  niggers  as  ye  ever  seed,  a  h^TLQg, 


THE   COU]SrTEY   CnUKCU.  187 

and  we've  d d  liard  work  to  get  it  out  on  her  noWy 

let  alone  what's  comin'." 

"Don't  talk  to  me,  you  ill-mannered  cur,"  said  my 
host,  turning  his  back  on  his  neighbor,  and  directing  liis 
attention  to  the  remainder  of  the  assemblage. 

"  Look  har,  Gunnel,"  replied  the  native,  "  if  ye'll  jest 
come  down  from  thar,  and  throw  'way  yer  shootin'- 
ii'ons,  I'll  give  ye  the  all-firedest  thrashing  ye  ever  did 
get." 

The  Colonel  gave  no  further  heed  to  him,  but  the 
speaker  mounted  the  steps  of  the  meeting-house  and 
harangued  the  natives  in  a  strain  of  rude  and  passion- 
ate declamation,  in  which  my  host,  the  aristocrats,  and 
the  secessionists  came  in  for  about  equal  shares  of 
abuse.  Seeing  that  the  native  (who,  it  appeared,  was 
quite  popular  as  a  stump-speaker)  was  drawing  away 
his  audience,  the  Colonel  descended  from  the  driver's 
seat,  and  motioning  for  me  to  follow,  entered  the  car- 
riage. Turning  the  horses  homeward,  we  rode  off  at  a 
brisk  pace. 

"  ISTot  much  secession  about  that  fellow,  Colonel,"  I 
remarked,  after  a  whUe. 

"Ko,"  he  replied,    "he's   a  IN'orth   Carolina  *corn-      \ 
cracker,'  one  of  the  ugliest  specimens  of  humanity  ex- 
tant.   They're  as  tliick  as  fieas  in  this  part  of  the  state,       j 
and  about  all  of  them  are  traitors." 

"  Traitors  to  the  state,  but  true  to  the  Union.  As  far 
as  I've  seen,  that  is  the  case  with  the  middling  class 
throuo-hout  the  South." 


188  A^IONG    THE    PINES. 

"Well,  it  may  be,  but  they  generally  go  with  us, 
and  I  reckon  they  will  now,  when  it  comes  to  the  rub. 
Those  in  the  towns — the  traders  and  mechanics — will, 
certain;  its  only  these  half-way  independent  planters 
that  ever  kick  the  traces.  By  the  way,"  continued  my 
host,  in  a  jocose  way,  "what  did  you  think  of  the 
preaching  ?" 

"  I  thought  it  very  poor.  I'd  rather  have  heard  the 
stump-speech,  had  it  not  been  a  little  too  personal  on 
you." 

"Well,  it  was  the  better  of  the  two,"  he  replied, 
laughmg,  "  but  the  old  devil  can't  afford  any  thing  good, 
he  don't  get  enough  pay." 

"  Why,  how  much  does  he  get  ?" 

"  Only  a  hundi'ed  dollars." 

"  That  is  small.     How  does  the  man  live  ?" 

"  Well,  he  teaches  the  daughter  of  my  neighbor. 
Captain  Randall,  who  beheves  in  praying,  and  gives  him 
his  board.  Randall  thinks  that  enoug-h.  The  rest  of 
the  parish  can't  afford  to  pay  him,  and  I  ioo?it.^^ 

"  Why  wont  you  ?" 

"  Because  he's  a  d d  old  hypocrite.     He  believes 

in  the  Union  with  all  his  heart — at  least  so  Randall, 
who's  a  sincere  Union  man,  says — and  yet,  he  never  sees 
me  at  meeting  but  he  preaches  a  red-hot  secession  ser- 
mon." 

"  He  wants  to  keep  you  in  the  faith,"  I  rej)lied- 

A  few  more  miles  of  sandy  road  took  us  to  the  man- 
sion,  where   we    found   dinner  in   waiting.      Meeting 


THE    COUXTKY    CHUECH.  1S9 

"Massa  Tommy" — who  had  staid  at  home  with  his 
mother — as  we  entered  the  doorway,  the  Colonel  asked 
after  the  overseer. 

"He  seems  well  enough,  sir;  I  believe  he's  coming 
the  possum  over  mother." 

"  I'll  bet  on  it,  Tommy ;  but  he  wont  fool  you  and 
me,  will  he,  my  boy  ?"  said  his  father,  slapping  him  af- 
fectionately on  the  back. 

After  dinner  I  went,  with  my  host  to  the  room  of  the 
wounded  man.  ffis  head  was  still  bound  up,  and  he 
was  groaning  piteously,  as  if  in  great  pain;  but  I 
thouo-ht  there  was  too  fresh  a  color  in  his  face  to  be  en- 
tirelv  natural  in  one  who  had  lost  so  much  blood,  and 
been  so  severely  woimded  as  he  affected  to  have  been. 

The  Colonel  mentioned  our  suspicions  to  Madam  P , 

and  suggested  that  the  shackles  should  be  put  on  him. 

"  Oh !  no,  don't  do  that ;  it  would  be  inhuman,"  said 
the  lady ;  "  the  color  is  the  effect  of  fever.  If  you  fear 
he  is  plotting  to  get  away,  let  him  be  watched." 

The  Colonel  consented,  but  with  evident  reluctance, 
to  the  arrangement,  and  retired  to  his  room  to  take  a 
siesta^  while  I  Ht  a  segar,  and  strolled  out  to  the  negro 
quarters. 

Making  my  way  through  the  woods  to  the  scene  of 
the  morning's  jollification,  I  found  about  a  hundred 
darkies  gathered  around  Jim,  on  the  httle  plot  in  front 
of  old  Lucy's  cabin.  He  had  evidently  been  giving 
them  the  news.  Pausing  when  I  came  near,  he  ex- 
claimed : 


190  AMONG    THE   PINJES. 

"Har's  Massa  K ,  he'll   say  dat  I  tells  you   de 

trnfh  ;"  and  turning  to  me,  he  said :   "  Massa  K , 

dese  darkies  say  da^  Massa  Andersin  am  an  ab'lisherner, 
and  dat  none  but  de  ab'lisherners  will  light  for  de  Union; 
am  dat  so,  sar  ?" 

"  No,  I  reckon  not,  Jim ;  I  think  the  whole  Korth 
would  fight  for  it  if  it  were  necessary." 

"Am  dat  so,  massa?  am  dat  so?"  eagerly  inquired  a 
dozen  of  the  darkies ;  "  and  am  dar  great  many  folks  at 
de  K'orf — ^more  dan  dar  am  down  har  ?" 

"  Yas,  you  fools,  didn't  I  tell  you  dat  ?"  said  Jim,  as 
I,  not  exactly  rehshing  the  idea  of  preaching  treason,  in 
the  Colonel's  absence,  to  his  slaves,  hesitated  to  reply. 
"  Haint  I  tole  you,"  he  continued,  "  dat  in  de  big  city 
ob  l!^ew  York  dar'm  more  folks  dan  in  all  Car'hna? 

I'se  been  dar,  and  I  knows;  and  Massa  K '11  tell 

you  dat  dey — most  on  'em — feel  mighty  sorry  for  de 
brack  man." 

"No  he  wont,"  I  replied,  "and  besides,  Jim,  you 
should  not  talk  in  this  way  before  me ;  I  might  tell  your 
master." 

"  No !  you  wont  do  dat ;  I  knows  you  wont,  massa. 
Scipio  tole  us  he'd  trust  his  bery  Hfe  wid  youP 

"  Well,  perhaps  he  might ;  it's  true  I  would  not  injure 
you ;"  saying  that,  I  turned  away,  though  my  curiosity 
was  greatly  excited  to  hear  more. 

I  wandered  farther  into  the  woods,  and  a  half-hour 
found  me  near  one  of  the  turpentine  distilleries.  Seat- 
ing myself  on  a  rosin  barrel,  I  quietly  finished  my  segar, 


THE  COHXTKT  CnUKCH.  191 

and  was  about  lighting  another,  when  Jim  made  his  ap- 
pearance. 

"  Beg  pardon,  Massa  K ,"  said  the  negro,  bov/ing 

very  low,  "  but  I  wants  to  ax  you  one  or  two  tings,  ef 
you  please,  sar." 

"  Well,"  I  replied,  "I'll  tell  you  any  thing  that  I  ought 
to." 

"Der  yer  tink,  den,  massa,  dat  dey'll  git  to  iightin'  at 
Charl'son  ?" 

"  Yes,  judging  by  the  tone  of  the  Charleston  papers 
you've  read  to-day,  I  think  they  wUl." 

"And  der  yer  tink  dat  de  rest  ob  de  Souf  will  jine  wid 
Souf  Cai-'lina,  if  she  go  at  it  fust  ?" 

"  Yes,  Jim,  I'm  inclined  to  think  so." 

"  I  hard  you  say  to  massa,  dat  ef  dey  goes  to  war,  'twiU 
free  all  de  niggers — der  you  rally  b'heve  dat,  sar  ?" 

"  You  heard  me  say  that ;  how  did  you  hear  it  ?"  I 
exclaimed,  in  surprise. 

"  Why,  sar,  de  front  winder  ob  de  carriage  war  down 
jess  a  crack,  so  I  hard  aU  you  said." 

"  Did  you  let  it  do^m  on  purpose  ?" 

"  P'r'aps  so,  massa.     Whot's  de  use  ob  habin'  ears,  ef 
you  don't  har  ?" 

"Well,  I  suppose  not  much ;  and  you  tell  all  you  hear 
to  the  other  negroes  ?" 

"  I  reckon  so,  massa,"  said  the  darky,  looking  very 
demure. 

"That's  the  use  of  having  a  tongue,  eh?"  I  replied, 
laughing. 


192  AMONG   TnE   PINES. 

*'  Dat's  it  'zactly,  massa." 

"Well,  Jim,  I  do  think  the  slaves  will  be  finally  freed; 
but  it  will  cost  more  white  blood  to  do  it  than  all  the 
niggers  in  creation  are  worth.  Do  you  think  the  darkies 
would  fight  for  their  freedom?" 

"  Fight,  sar  !"  exclaimed  the  negro,  straightening  up 
his  fine  form,  while  his  usual  good-natured  look  passed 
ft'om  his  face,  and  gave  way  to  an  expression  that  made 
him  seem  more  hke  an  incarnate  devil  than  a  human 
being ;  "  fight,  sar ;  gib  dem  de  chance,  and  den  see." 

"  Why  are  you  discontented  ?  You  have  been  at  the 
Xorth,  and  you  know  the  blacks  are  as  well  ofi"  as  the 
majority  of  the  poor  laboring  men  there." 

"You  says  dat  to  me,  Massa  K ;  you  don't  say  it 

to  de  Gunnel.  We  am  not  so  well  ofi*  as  de  pore  man 
at  de  Norf !  You  knows  dat,  sar.  He  hab  his  wife  and 
chil'ren,  and  his  own  home.  What  hab  we,  sar  ?  No 
wife,  no  chil'ren,  no  home ;  all  am  de  white  man's.  Der 
yer  tink  we  wouldn't  fight  to  be  free?"  and  he  pressed  his 
teeth  together,  and  there  passed  again  over  his  face  the 
same  look  it  wore  the  moment  before. 

"  Come,  come,  Jim,  this  may  be  true  of  your  race ; 
but  it  don't  apply  to  yourself.  Your  master  is  kind  and 
indulgent  to  youP 

"  He  am  kine  to  me,  sar ;  he  orter  be,"  said  the  negro, 
the  savage  expression  coining  again  into  his  eyes.  For 
a  moment  he  hesitated ;  then,  taking  a  step  toward  me, 
he  placed  his  face  down  to  mine,  and  hissed  out  these 
words,  every  syllable  seeming  to  come  from  the  very 


THE    COUNTEY    CHUKCH.  193 

bottom  of  his  being.     "  I  tell  you  he  orter  be,  sar,  fur 

I  AM   HIS    OWN  father's   SON !" 

"Hi3  brother!"  I  exclaimed,  springing  to  my  feet, 
and  looking  at  him  in  blank  amazement.  "  It  can't  be 
true!" 

"  It  am  true,  sar — as  true  as  there's  a  hell !  His  father 
had  my  mother — when  he  got  tired  of  her,  he  sold  her 
Souf.     /  war  too  young  den  eben  to  Jcnow  her  /" 

"  This  is  horrible — too  horrible !"  I  said. 

"It  am  slavery,  sar!  Shouldn't  we  be  contented?" 
replied  the  negro  with  a  grim  smile.  Drawing,  then,  a 
large  spring-knife  ii'om  his  pocket,  he  waved  it  above 
his  head,  and  added:  "  Ef  I  had  de  huU  white  race  dar — 
right  dar  under  dat  knife,  don't  yer  tink  I'd  take  all  dar 
lives — all  at  one  blow — to  be  free  !" 

"And  yet  you  refused  to  run  away  when  the  Aboli- 
tionists tempted  you,  at  the  E'orth.  Why  didn't  you 
go  then  ?" 

"  'Cause  I  had  promised,  massa." 

"  Promised  the  Colonel  before  you  went  ?" 

"No,  sar;  he  neber  axed  me;  but  Z can't  tell  you  no 
more.     P'raps  Scipio  wiU,  ef  you  ax  him." 

"  Oh !  I  see ;  you're  in  that  league  of  which  Scip  is  a 
leader.     You'll  get  into  trouble,  sure^"^  I  replied,  ui  a 
quick,  decided  tone,  which  startled  him. 
,    "  You  tole  Scipio  dat,  sar,  and  what  did  he  tell  you?" 

"  That  he  didn't  care  for  his  hfe." 

"  No  more  do  I,  sar,"  said  the  negro,  turning  on  his  heel 
with  a  proud,  almost  defiant  gesture,  and  starting  to  go 
9 


19-]:  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

"  A  moment,  Jim.  You  are  very  imprudenL ;  never 
say  these  things  to  any  other  mortal ;  promise  me  that." 

"You'se  bery  good,  massa,  bery  good.  Scipio  say 
you's  true,  and  he'm  allers  right.  I  ortent  to  hab  said 
what  I  hab  ;  but  sumhow,  sar,  dat  news  brought  it  all 
up  Aar"  (laying  his  hand  on  his  breast),  "and  it  wud 
come  out." 

The  tears  filled  his  eyes  as  he  said  this,  and  turning 
away  without  another  word,  he  disappeared  among  the 
trees. 

I  was  almost  stunned  by  this  strange  revelation,  but 
the  more  I  reflected  on  it,  the  more  probableit  appeared. 
Now,  too,  that  my  thoughts  were  turned  in  that  direc- 
tion, 1  o-alled  to  mind  a  certain  resemblance  between  the 
colonel  and  the  nescro  that  I  had  not  heeded  before. 
Though  one  was  a  high-bred  Southern  gentleman,  claim- 
ing an  old  and  proud  descent,  and  the  other  a  poor  Af- 
rican slave,  they  had  some  striking  peculiarities  which 
mio^ht  indicate  a  common  oriofin.  The  likeness  was  not 
in  their  features,  for  Jim's  face  was  of  the  unmistakable 
negro  type,  and  his  skin  of  a  hue  so  dark  that  it  seemed 
impossible  he  could  be  the  son  of  a  white  man  (I  after- 
ward learned  that  his  mother  was  a  black  of  the  deepest 
dye),  but  it  was  in  their  form  and  general  bearing. 
They  had  the  same  closely-knit  and  sinewy  frame,  the 
same  erect,  elastic  step,  the  same  rare  blending  of  good- 
natm-ed  ease  and  dignity — to  which  I  have  already  al- 
luded as  characteristic  of  the  Colonel — and  in  the  wild 
^)m'st  of  passion  that  accompanied  the  negro's  disclosure 


THE   COTJNTKY   CHTIRCn.  195 

of  their  relationship,  I  saw  the  same  fierce,  unbridled 
temper,  whose  outbreaks  I  had  witnessed  in  my  host. 

^7hat  a  strange  fate  was  theii's !  Two  brothers — the 
one  the  owner  of  three  hundred  slaves,  and  the  first 
man  of  his  district — the  other,  a  bonded  menial,  and  so 
poor  that  the  very  bread  he  ate,  and  the  clothes  he 
wore,  were  another's  ! 

I  passed  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon  in  my  room, 
and  did  not  again  meet  my  host  until  the  family  as- 
sembled at  the  tea-table.  Jim  then  occupied  his  accus- 
tomed seat  behind  the  Colonel's  chair,  and  that  gentle- 
man was  in  more  than  his  usual  spirits,  though  Madam 
P ,  I  thought,  wore  a  sad  and  absent  look. 

The  conversation  rambled  over  a  wide  rang^e  of  sub- 
jects,  and  was  carried  on  mainly  by  the  Colonel  and 
myself;  but  toward  the  close  of  the  meal  the  lady  said 
to  me : 

''  Mr.  K ,  Sam  and  young  Junius  are  to  be  buried 

this  evening ;  if  you  have  never  seen  a  negro  funeral, 
perhaps  you'd  like  to  attend." 

"  I  will  be  happy  to  accompany  you,  Madam,  if  you 
go,"  I  repHed. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  lady. 

"  Pshaw !  Alice,  you'U  not  go  into  the  woods  on  so 
cold  a  night  as  this  !"  said  the  Colonel. 

"Yes,  I  think  I  ought  to.     Our  people  will  expect 


me." 


1^'-  AMONG    THE   PINES. 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE    NEGRO    FUNERAL. 


It  was  about  an  hour  after  nightfall  when  we  took 
our  way  to  the  burial-ground.  The  moon  had  risen, 
but  the  clouds  which  gathered  when  the  sun  went 
down,  covered  its  face,  and  were  fast  spreading  their 
thick,  black  shadows  over  the  little  collection  of  negro- 
houses.  Near  two  new-made  graves  were  gathered 
some  two  hundred  men  and  women,  as  dark  as  the 
night  that  was  setting  around  them.  As  we  entered 
the  circle  the  old  preacher  pointed  to  seats  reserved  for 
us,  and  the  sable  crowd  fell  back  a  few  paces,  as  if,  even 
in  the  presence  of  death,  they  did  not  forget  the  differ- 
ence between  their  race  and  ours. 

Scattered  here  and  there  among  the  trees,  torches  of 
lightwood  threw  a  wild  and  fitful  light  over  the  little 
cluster  of  graves,  revealing  the  long,  straight  boxes  of 
rough  pine  that  held  the  remains  of  the  two  negroes, 
and  lighting  up  the  score  or  two  of  russet  mounds  where 
slept  the  dusky  kinsmen  who  had  gone  before  them. 

The  simple  head-boards  that  marked  these  humble 
graves  chronicled  no  bad  biography  or  senseless  rhyme, 
and  told  no  false  tales  of  lives  that  might  better  not  have 
been,  but  "Sam,  age  22;"  "Pompet;"  "Jake's  Eliza;" 


TIIE   XEGEO   FUi^'EPwAL.  197 


V 


"  Aunt  Sue  ;"  "  Aunt  Lucy's  Tom  ;"  "  Joe  ;"  and 
other  like  inscriptions,  scratched  in  rough  characters  on 
the  unplaned  boards,  were  all  the  records  there.  The 
rude  tenants  had  passed  away  and  "left  no  sign ;"  their 
birth,  their  age,  their  deeds,  were  alike  unknown — un- 
known, but  not  forgotten  !  for  are  they  not  ^Titten  in 
the  book  of  His  remembrance — and  when  he  coimteth 
up  his  jewels,  may  not  some  of  them  be  there  ? 

The  queer,  gi'otesque  dress,  and  sad,  earnest  looks  of 
the  black  group ;  the  red,  fitful  glare  of  the  blazing 
pine,  and  the  white  faces  of  the  tapped  trees,  gleaming 
through  the  gloom  like  so  many  sheeted  ghosts  gather- 
ed to  some  death-carnival,  made  up  a  strange,  wild  scene 
— the  strangest  and  the  wildest  I  had  ever  witnecs^^f?. 

The  covers  of  the  rude  coffins  were  not  yet  nailed 
down,  and  when  we  arrived,  the  blacks  were,  one  by 
one,  taking  a  last  look  at  the  faces  of  the  dead.  Soon, 
Junius,  holding  his  weeping  wife  by  the  hand,  ap- 
proached the  smaller  of  the  two  boxes,  which  held  all 
that  was  left  of  their  first-bom.  The  mother,  kneeling- 
by  its  side,  kissed  again  and  again  the  cold,  shrimken 
lips,  and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would  break ;  and  the 
strong  frame  of  the  father  shook  convulsively,  as  he 
choked  down  the  great  sorrow  which  welled  up  in  his 
throat,  and  turned  away  fi.*om  his  boy  forever.  As  he 
did  so,  old  Pompey  said : , 

"  Don't  grebe,  June,  he'm  whar  de  wicked  cease  from 
trubling,  whar  de  weary  am  at  rest." 

"  I  knows  it ;  I  knows  it,  Uncle.     I  knows  de  Lord 


198  AMONG    THE    PINES. 

am  bery  good  to  take  'im  'way ;  but  why  did  he  take 
de  young  chile,  and  leab  de  ole  man  har  ?" 

"  De  little  sapling  dat  grow  in  de  shade  may  die  while 
it'm  young  ;  de  great  tree  dat  grow  in  de  sun  must  lib 
till  he'm  rotted  down." 

These  words  were  the  one  drop  wanting  to  make  the 
great  grief  which  was  swelling  in  the  negro's  heart 
overflow.  Giving  one  low,  wild  cry,  he  folded  his  wife 
in  his  arms,  and  burst  into  a  paroxysm  of  tears. 

"Come  now,  my  chil'ren,"  said  the  old  preacher, 
kneeling  down,  "  let  us  pray." 

The  whole  assemblage  then  knelt  on  the  cold  ground, 
while  the  old  man  prayed,  and  a  more  sincere,  heart- 
touching  prayer  never  went  up  from  human  Hps  to  that 
God  "  who  hath  made  of  one  blood  all  nations  that 
dwell  on  the  face  of  the  earth."  Though  clothed  in 
rags,  and  in  feeble  age  at  the  mercy  of  a  cruel  task- 
master, that  old  slave  was  richer  far  than  his  master. 
His  simple  faith,  which  saw  through  the  darkness  around 
him  into  the  clear  and  radiant  light  of  the  unseen  day, 
was  of  far  more  worth  than  all  the  wealth  and  glory 
of  this  world.  I  know  not  why  it  was,  but  as  I  looked 
at  him  in  the  dim  red  light,  which  fell  on  his  bent  form 
and  cast  a  strange  halo  around  his  upturned  face,  I 
thought  of  Stephen,  as  he  gazed  upward  and  beheld 
heaven  open,  and  "  the  Son  of  Man  seated  at  the  right 
hand  of  the  throne  of  God." 

Kising  from  his  knees,  the  old  preacher  turned  slowly 
to  the  black  mass  that  encircled  him,  and  said : 


THE   NEGEO   FT7NEEAL.  199 

"  My  dear  brederin  and  sisters,  de  Lord  say  dat  '  de 
dust  shill  return  to  de  earth  as  it  war,  and  de  spirit  to 
Him  who  gabe  it,'  and  now,  'cordin'  to  dat  text,  my 
friends,  we'm  gwine  to  put  dis  dust  (pointing  to  the 
two  cofiiiis)  in  de  groun'  whar  it  cum  from,  and  whar  it 
shill  lay  till  de  bressed  Lord  blow  de  great  trumpet  on 
de  resumrection  mornin'.  De  spirits  of  our  brudders 
bar  de  Lord  hab  already  took  to  hisseff.  '  Our  brud- 
ders,' I  say,  my  chil'ren,  'case  ebery  one  dat  de  Lord 
hab  made  am  brudders  to  you  and  to  me,  whedder 
dey'm  bad  or  good,  white  or  brack. 

"  Dis  young  chile,  who  hab  gone  'way  and  leff  his 
pore  fader  and  mudder  suifrin'  all  ober  wid  grief,  he 
hab  gone  to  de  Lord,  shore.  He  neber  done  no  wi'ong, 
he  allers  'bey'd  his  massa,  and  neber  said  no  hard  word, 
nor  foimd  no  fault,  not  eben  w'en  de  cruel,  bad  ober- 
seer  put  de  load  so  heaby  on  him  dat  it  kill  him.  Yes, 
my  brederin  and  sisters,  he  hab  gone  to  de  Lord ;  gone 
whar  dey  don't  work  in  de  swamps ;  whar  de  little 
chil'ren  don't  tote  de  big  shingles  fru  de  water  up  to  dar 
laiees.  Xo  swamps  am  dar  ;  no  shingles  am  dar ;  dey 
doan't  need  'em,  'case  dar  de  hous'n  haint  builded  wid 
hands,  for  dey'm  all  builded  by  de  Lord,  and  gib'n  to 
de  good  niggers,  ready-made,  and  for  nuffin'.  De  Lord 
don't  say,  hke  as  ded  massa  say,  '  Pomp,  dar's  de  logs 
and  de  shingles'  (dey'm  allers  pore  shingles,  do  kine  dat 
woant  sell ;  but  massa  say,  '  dey'm  good  'nuff  for  nig- 
gers,' ef  de  roof  do  leak).  De  Lord  doan't  say :  '  ISTow, 
Pomp,  you  go  to  work  and  build  you'  own  house ;  but 


1 

200  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

mine  dat  you  does  you'  task  all  de  time,  jess  de  same!' 
But  de  Lord — de  bressed  Lord — He  say,  w'en  we  goes 
up  dar,  'Dar,  Pomp,  dar's  de  house  dat  T'se  been  a 
buildin'  for  you  eber  sence  '  de  foundation  ob  de  worle.' 
It'm  done  now,  and  you  kin  cum  in ;  your  room  am 
jess  ready,  and  ole  Sal  and  de  chil'ren  dat  I  tuk  'way 
from  you  eber  so  long  ago,  and  dat  you  mourned  ober 
and  cried  ober  as  ef  you'd  neber  see  dem  agin,  dey'm  dar 
too,  all  on  'em,  a  waitin,  for  you.  Dey'm  been  fixin'  up 
de  house  'spressly  for  you  all  dese  long  years,  and  dey'b 
got  it  all  nice  and  comfible  now.'  Yas,  my  friends, 
glory  be  to  Him,  dat's  what  our  Heabenly  massa  say, 
and  who  ob  you  wouldn't  hab  sich  a  massa  as  dat  ?  A 
massa  dat  doant  set  you  no  hard  tasks,  and  dat  gibs  you 
'nuff  to  eat,  and  time  to  rest  and  to  sing  and  to  play!  A 
massa  dat  doan't  keep  no  Yankee  oberseer  to  foller  you 
'bout  wid  de  big  free-lashed  whip ;  but  dat  leads  you 
hisseff  to  de  green  pastures  and  de  still  waters ;  and 
w'en  you'm  a-faint  and  a-tired,  and  can't  go  no  iurder, 
dat  takes  you  up  in  his  arms,  and  carries  you  in  his 
bosom !  What  pore  darky  am  dar  dat  wudn't  hab  sich 
a  massa  ?  What  one  ob  us,  eben  ef  he  had  to  work 
jess  so  hard  as  we  works  now,  wudn't  tink  heseff  de 
happiest  nigger  in  de  hull  worle,  ef  he  could  hab  sich 
hous'n  to  lib  in  as  dem?  dem  hous'n  'not  made  wid 
hands,  eternal  in  de  heabens !' 

"  But  glory,  glory  to  de  Lord !  my  cMl'ren,  wese  aU 
got  dat  massa,  ef  we  only  knowd  it,  and  He'm  buildin' 
dem  hous'n  up  dar,  now,  for  ebery  one  ob  us  dat  am  try- 


^  THE   XEGKO    FUXEEAL.  201 

in'  to  be  ^rood  and  to  lub  one  anoder.  For  eberu  one 
oh  us,  I  say,  and  we  kin  all  git  de  fine  hous'n  ef  we 
try. 

"  Recolember,  too,  my  brudders,  dat  our  great  Massa 
am  rich,  bery  rich,  and  he  kin  do  all  he  promise.  ITo 
doant  say,  w'en  wese  worked  ober  time  to  git  some  lit- 
tle ting  to  comfort  de  sick  chile,  '  I  knows.  Pomp,  you'se 
done  de  work,  an'  I  did  'gree  to  gib  you  de  pay ;  but 
de  fact  am,  Pomp,  de  frost  hab  come  so  sudden  dis  yar, 
dat  I'se  loss  de  hull  ob  de  sebenf h  dippin',  and  I'se  pore, 
so  pore,  de  chile  muss  go  widout  dis  tune.'  Xo,  no, 
brudders,  de  bressed  Lord  He  neber  talk  so.  He  neber 
break,  'case  de  sebenfh  dip  am  shet  off,  or  'case  de  price 
of  turpentime  gwo  down  at  de  ISTorf.  He  neber  sell  his 
niggers  down  Souf,  'case  he  lose  his  money  on  he  hoss- 
race.  Xo,  my  chil'ren,  our  Heabexlt  Massa  am  rich, 
EiCH,  I  say.  He  own  aU  dis  worle,  and  all  de  oder 
worles  dat  am  shinin'  up  dar  in  de  sky.  He  o^ti  dem 
aU ;  but  he  tink  more  ob  one  ob  you,  more  ob  one  ob 
you — pore,  ign'rant  brack  folks  dat  you  am — dan  ob 
aU  dem  great  worles  !  Who  wouldn't  belong  to  sich  a 
Massa  as  dat  ?  Who  wouldn't  be  his  nigger — not  his 
slave — He  doant  hab  no  slaves — but  his  chile  ;  and  '  ef 
his  chile,  den  his  heii',  de  heir  ob  God,  and  de  jined  heii 
wid  de  bressed  Jesus.'  O  my  chil'ren  !  tink  of  dat !  do 
heir  ob  de  Lord  ob  aU  de  'ai*th  and  all  de  sky  I  What 
white  man  kin  be  more'n  dat  ? 

"  Don't  none  ob  you  say  you'm  too  wicked  to  be  His 
chile ;  'ca'se  you  haint.     He  lubs  de  wicked  ones  de  best, 
9* 


202  AMONG   THE    PINES. 

'ca'se  dey  need  his  lub  de  most.  Yas,  my  brudders, 
eben  de  wickedest,  ef  dey's  only  sorry,  and  tm-n  romi' 
and  leab  off  dar  bad  ways,  lie  lub  de  bery  best  ob  all, 
'ca'se  he'm  all  lub  and  pity. 

"  Sam,  bar,  my  chil'ren,  war  wicked,  but  don't  we 
pity  him ;  don't  we  tink  he  hab  a  hard  time,  and  don't 
we  tink  de  bad  oberseer,  who'm  layin'  dar  in  de  house 
jess  ready  to  gwo  and  answer  for  it — don't  we  tink  he 
gabe  Sam  bery  great  probincation  ? 

"  Dat's  so,"  said  a  dozen  of  the  auditors. 

"  Den  don't  you  'spose  dat  de  bressed  Lord  know  all 
dat,  and  dat  He  pity  Sam  too.  K  we  pore  sinners  feel 
sorrer  for  him,  haint  de  Lord's  heart  bigger'n  our'n,  and 
haint  he  more  sorrer  for  him  ?  Don't  you  tink  dat  ef 
He  lub  and  pity  de  bery  worse  whites,  dat  He  lub  and 
pity  pore  Sam,  who  warn't  so  bery  bad,  arter  all  ? 
Don't  you  tink  He'll  gib  Sam  a  house  ?  P'r'aps'  'twont 
be  one  ob  de  fine  hous'n,  but  wont  it  be  a  comfible 
house,  dat  hain't  no  cracks,  and  one  dat'll  keep  out  de 
wind  and  de  rain  ?  And  don't  you  s'pose,  my  chil'ren, 
dat  it'll  be  big  'nuff  for  Jule,  too — dat  pore,  repentin' 
chile,  whose  heart  am  clean  broke,  'ca'se  she  hab  brought- 
en  dis  on  Sam — and  won't  de  Lord — de  good  Lord — de 
tender-hearted  Lord — won't  He  touch  Sam's  heart,  and 
coax  him  to  forgib  Jule,  and  to  take  her  inter  his  house 
up  dar  ?    I  knows  he  Tvdll,  my  chil'ren.     I  knows " 

The  old  negro  paused  abruptly;  there  was  a  quick 
swa}Tng  in  the  black  crowd — a  hasty  rush — a  wild  cry — 
and  Sam's  wife  burst  into  the  open  space  around  the 


THE    ITEGKO    FUNERAL.  203 

preacher,  and  fell  at  his  feet.  Throwing  her  arms  wildly 
about  him,  she  shrieked  out : 

"  Say  dat  agin,  Uncle  Pomp  !  for  de  lub  ob  de  good 
Lord,  oh  !  say  dat  agin  I" 

Bending  down,  the  old  man  raised  her  gently  in  his 
arms,  and  folding  her  there,  as  he  would  have  folded  a 
child,  he  said,  in  a  voice  thick  with  emotion : 

"  It  am  so,  Juley.  I  knows  dat  Sam  will  forgib  you, 
and  take  you  wid  him  up  dar." 

Fastening  her  arms  frantically  around  Pomj^ey's  neck, 
tbe  poor  woman  burst  into  a  paroxysm  of  grief,  while 
the  old  man's  tears  fell  in  great  drops  on  her  upturned 
face,  and  many  a  dark  cheek  was  wet,  as  with  rain. 

The  scene  had  lasted  a  few  minutes,  and  I  was  turning 
away  to  hide  the  emotion  that  fast  filled  my  eyes,  and 
was  creeping  up,  with  a  choking  feeling,  to  my  throat, 
when  the  Colonel,  from  the  farther  edge  of  the  group, 
called  out : 

"  Take  that  d — d away — take  her  away.  Pomp  !" 

The  old  negro  turned  toward  his  master  with  a  sad, 
grieved  look,  but  gave  no  heed  to  the  words. 

"  Take  her  away,  some  of  you,  I  say,"  again  cried  the 
Colonel.  "Pomp,  you  mustn't  keep  these  niggers  aJl 
night  in  the  cold." 

a. 

At  the  sound  of  her  master's  voice  the  metif  woman 
fell  to  the  ground  as  if  struck  by  a  Minie-baU.  Soon 
several  negroes  Hfted  her  up  to  bear  her  off;  but  she 
struggled  violently,  and  rent  the  woods  with  her  wild 
cries  for  "  one  more  look  at  Sam." 


204  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

"  Look  at  him,  you  d — d ;  then  go,  and  don't  let 

me  see  you  again." 

She  threw  herself  on  the  face  of  the  dead,  and  cov- 
ered the  cold  lips  with  her  kisses ;  then  she  rose,  and 
with  a  weak,  uncertain  step,  staggered  out  into  the 
darkness. 

Was  not  the  system  which  had  so  seared  and  hard- 
ened that  man's  heart,  begotten  in  the  lowest  hell  ? 

The  old  preacher  said  no  more,  but  four  stout  negro 
men  stepped  forward,  nailed  down  the  lids,  and  lowered 
the  rough  boxes  into  the  ground.     Turning  to  Madam 

P ,  I  saw  her  ilice  was  red  with  weeping.      She 

turned  to  go  as  the  first  earth  fell,  with  a  dull,  heavy 
sound,  on  the  rude  coffins ;  and  giving  her  my  arm,  I 
led  her  from  the  scene. 

As  we  walked  slowly  back  to  the  house,  a  low  wail — 
half  a  chant,  half  a  dirge — rose  from  the  black  crowd, 
and  floated  off  on  the  still  night  air,  till  it  died  away 
amid  the  far  woods,  in  a  strange,  unearthly  moan.  With 
that  sad,  wild  music  in  our  ears,  we  entered  the  mansion. 

As  we  seated  ourselves  by  the  bright  wood-fire  on 
the  library  hearth,  obeying  a  sudden  unpulse  which  I 
could  not  restrain,  I  said  to  Madam  P : 

"  The  Colonel's  treatment  of  that  poor  woman  is  in- 
exphcable  to  me.  Why  is  he  so  hard  with  her  ?  It  is 
not  in  keeping  with  what  I  have  seen  of  his  character." 

"The  Colonel  is  a  peculiar  man,"  replied  the  lady. 
"  Noble,  generous,  and  a  true  friend,  he  is  also  a  bitter, 
implacable  enemy.     When  he  once  conceives  a  disUke, 


THE   NEGEO    FUNEEAL.  205 

his  feeliiiQ:s  become  even  yindictive.  Never  liayinsj  had 
an  unsfratified  Trish,  he  does  not  know  how  to  feel  for 
the  sorrows  of  those  beneath  him.  Sam,  though  a  proud, 
headstrong,  unruly  character,  was  a  great  favorite  with 
him ;  he  felt  his  death  much ;  and  as  he  attributes  it  to 
Jule,  he  feels  terribly  bitter  toward  her.  She  will  have 
to  be  sold  to  get  her  out  of  his  way,  for  he  will  7iever 
forgive  her." 

It  was  some  time  before  the  Colonel  joined  us,  and 
when  at  last  he  made  his  appearance,  he  seemed  in  no 
mood  for  conversation.  The  lady  soon  retii*ed ;  but 
feeling  unlike  sleep,  I  took  down  a  book  from  the  shelves,- 
drew  my  chair  near  the  fire,  and  fell  to  reading.  The 
Colonel,  too,  was  deep  in  the  newspapers,  till,  after  a 
while,  Jim  entered  the  room : 

"  I'se  cum  to  ax  ef  you've  nuffin  more  to-night,  Cun- 
nel  ?"  said  the  neg-ro. 

"No,  nothing,  Jim,"  replied  his  master;  "but,  stay 
— hadn't  you  better  sleep  in  fi-ont  of  Moye's  door  ?" 

"Dunno,  sar;  jess  as  you  say." 

"  I  think  you'd  better,"  retm-ned  the  Colonel. 

"  Yas,  massa,"  and  the  darky  left  the  apartment. 

The  Colonel  shortly  rose,  and  bade  me  "  good-night." 
I  continued  reading  till  the  clock  struck  eleven,  when  I 
laid  the  book  aside  and  went  to  my  room. 

I  lodged,  as  I  have  said  before,  on  the  first  floor,  and 
was  obliged  to  pass  by  the  overseer's  apartment  in  go- 
ing to  mine.  Wrapped  in  his  blanket,  and  stretched  at 
full  length  on  the  ground,  Jim  lay  there,  fast  asleep. 


206  AHONG   THE   PINES. 

I  passed  on,  thinking  of  the  Tvisdom  of  placing  a  tired 
negro  on  guard  over  an  acute  and  desperate  Yankee. 

I  rose  in  the  morning  with  the  sun,  and  had  partly 
donned  my  clothing,  when  I  heard  a  loud  uproar  in  the 
hall.  Opening  my  door,  I  saw  Jim  pounding  rehe- 
mently  at  the  Colonel's  room,  and  looking  as  pale  as  is 
possible  with  a  person  of  his  complexion. 

"What  the  d — 1  is  the  matter?"  asked  his  master, 
who  now,  partly  dressed,  stepped  into  the  hall. 

"Moye  hab  gone,  sar — he'm  gone  and  took  Firefly 
(my  host's  five-thousand-dollar  thorough-bred)  wid  him." 

For  a  moment  the  Colonel  stood  stupified ;  then,  his 
face  turning  to  a  cold,  clayey  white,  he  seized  the  black 
by  the  throat,  and  hurled  him  to  the  floor.  With  his 
thick  boot  raised,  he  seemed  about  to  dash  out  the  man's 
brains  with  its  ironed  heel,  when,  on  the  instant,  the  oc- 
toroon woman  rushed,  in  her  night-clothes,  from  his 
room,  and,  with  desperate  energy,  pushed  him  aside, 
exclaiming :  "  What  would  you  do  ?  Remember  who 
HE  is!" 

The  negro  rose,  and  the  Colonel,  without  a  word, 
passed  into  his  own  apartment. 


THE   PUPwSUIT.  207 


CHAPTER  XI. 


THE    PURSUIT. 


I  SAUNTERED  out,  after  the  events  recorded  in  the  last 
chapter,  to  inhale  the  fresh  air  of  the  morning.  A  slight 
rain  had  fallen  during  the  night,  and  it  still  moistened 
the  dead  leaves  which  carpeted  the  woods,  making  an 
extended  walk  out  of  the  question ;  so,  seating  myself 
on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree,  in  the  vicinity  of  the  house, 
I  awaited  the  hour  for  breakfast.  I  had  not  remained 
there  long  before  I  heard  the  voices  of  my  host  and 
Madam  P on  the  front  piazza : 

"  I  tell  you,  Alice,  I  cannot — must  not  do  it.  If  I 
overlook  this,  the  discipline  of  the  plantation  is  at  an 
end." 

"  Do  what  you  please  with  him  when  you  return,"  re- 
phed  the  lady,  "  but  do  not  chain  him  up,  and  leave  me, 
at  such  a  time,  alone.  You  know  Jim  is  the  only  one  I 
can  depend  on." 

"  Well,  have  your  own  way.  Tou  know,  my  darling, 
I  would  not  cause  you  a  moment's  uneasiness,  but  I 
must  follow  up  this  d d  Moye." 

I  was  seated  where  I  could  hear,  though  I  could  not 
see  the  speakers,  but  it  was  evident  from  the  tone  of  the 
last  remark,  that  an  action  accompanied  it  quite  as  ten- 


208  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

der  as  the  words.     Beino-  unwiUino'  to  oyerliear  more 
of  a  private  conversation,  I  rose  and  approached  them. 

"Ah  !  my  dear  fellow,"  said  the  Colonel,  on  perceiving 
me,  "  are  you  stirring  so  early  ?  I  was  about  to  send  to 
your  room  to  ask  if  you'll  go  with  me  up  the  country. 

My  d d  overseer  has  got  away,  and  I  must  follow 

him  at  once." 

"  I'll  go  with  pleasure,"  I  replied.  "  Which  way  do 
you  think  Moye  has  gone  ?" 

"  The  shortest  cut  to  the  railroad,  probably ;  but  old 
Caesar  will  track  him." 

A  servant  then  announced  breakfast — an  early  one 
having  been  prepared.  We  hurried  through  the  meal 
with  all  speed,  and  the  other  preparations  being  soon 
over,  were  in  twenty  minutes  in  our  saddles,  and  ready 
for  the  journey.  The  mulatto  coachman,  with  a  thii'd 
horse,  was  at  the  door,  ready  to  accompany  us.  As  we 
mounted,  the  Colonel  said  to  him : 

"  Go  and  call  Sam,  the  driver." 

The  darky  soon  returned  with  the  heavy,  ugly-visaged 

black  who  had  been  whipped,  by  Madam  P 's  order, 

the  day  before. 

"Sam,"  said  his  master,  "I  shall  be  gone  some  days, 
and  I  leave  the  field-work  in  your  hands.  Let  me  have 
a  good  account  of  you  when  I  return." 

"  Yas,  massa,  you  shill  dat,"  rephed  the  negro. 

"  Put  Jule — Sam's  Jule — into  the  woods,  and  see  that 
she  does  full  tasks,"  continued  the  Colonel. 

"  Haint  she  wanted  'mong  de  nusses,  massa  ?" 


THE    PUESUIT.  209 

'-'  Put  some  one  else  there — give  her  field-work ;  she 
needs  it." 

On  large  plantations  the  young  children  of  the  field- 
women  are  left  with  them  only  at  night,  and  are  herded 
together  during  the  day,  in  a  separate  cabin,  in  charge 
of  nurses.  These  nurses  are  feeble,  sickly  women,  or  re- 
cent mothers ;  and  the  fact  of  Jule's  being  employed  in 
that  capacity  was  evidence  that  she  was  unfit  for  out- 
door labor. 

Madam  P ,  who  was  waiting  on  the  piazza  to  see 

us  ofii  seemed  about  to  remonstrate  against  this  ar- 
rangement, but  she  hesitated  a  moment,  and  in  that 
moment  we  had  bidden  her  "  Good-bye,"  and  galloped 
away. 

We  were  soon  at  the  cabin  of  the  negro-hunter,  and 
the  coachman,  dismounting,  called  him  out. 

"  Hurry  up,  hurry  up,"  said  the  Colonel,  as  Sandy  ap- 
peared, "  we  haven't  a  moment  to  spare." 

"Jest  so — -jest  so.  Gunnel;  I'll  jine  ye  in  a  jiffin,"  re- 
plied he  of  the  reddish  extremities. 

Emerging  from  the  shanty  with  provoking  delibera- 
tion— the  impatience  of  my  host  had  infected  me — the 
elay-eater  slowly  proceeded  to  mount  the  horse  of  the 
negro,  while  his  dirt-bedraggled  w^ife,  and  clay-encrusted 
childi-en,  followed  close  at  his  heels,  the  younger  ones 
huddling  around  for  the  tokens  of  paternal  afiection 
usual  at  parting.  Whether  it  was  the  noise  they  made, 
or  their  frightful  aspect,  I  know  not,  but  the  horse,  a 
spirited  animal,  took  fright  on  their   appeai'ance,  and 


210  AMONG   THE    PINES., 

nearly  broke  away  from  the  negro,  who  was  holding 
Imn.     Seemg  this,  the  Colonel  said : 

"Clear  out,  you  yoimg  scare-crows.  Into  the  house 
with  you." 

"  They  arn't  no  more  scare-crows  than  yourn,  Cunnel 

J ,"  said  the  mother,  in  a  decidedly  beUigerent  tone. 

"  You  may  'buse  my  old  man — he  kin  stand  it — ^but  ye 
shan't  blackguard  my  young  'uns!" 

The  Colonel  laughed,  and  was  about  to  make  a  good- 
natured  reply,  when  Sandy  yelled  outt 

"  Gwo  enter  the  house  and  shet  up,  ye ." 

With  this  affectionate  fare  ;v  ell,  he  turned  his  horse 
and  led  the  way  up  the  road. 

The  dog,  who  was  a  short  distance  in  advance,  soon 
gave  a  piercing  howl,  and  started  off  at  the  speed  of  a 
reindeer.  He  had  struck  the  trail,  and  m-ging  our 
horses  to  their  fastest  speed,  we  followed. 

We  were  all  well  mounted,  but  the  mare  the  Colonel 
had  given  me  was  a  magnificent  animal,  as  fleet  as  the 
wind,  and  \vith  a  gait  so  easy  that  her  back  seemed  a 
rocking-chair.  Saddle-horses  at  the  South  are  trained 
to  the  gallop — Southern  riders  not  deeming  it  necessary 
that  one's  breakfast  should  be  churned  into  a  Dutch 
cheese  by  a  trotting  nag,  in  order  that  he  may  pass  for 
a  horseman. 

We  had  ridden  on  at  a  perfect  break-neck  pace  for  half 
an  hour,  when  the  Colonel  shouted  to  our  companion : 

"Sandy,  call  the  dog  in;  the  horses  wont  last  ten 
miles  at  this  gait — we've  a  long  ride  before  us." 


THE   PUESUIT.  211 

The  dirt-oater  did  as  he  was  bidden,  and  we  soon  set- 
tled into  a  gentle  gallop. 

We  had  passed  through  a  dense  forest  of  pines,  but 
were  emerging  into  a  "bottom  country,"  where  some  of 
ie  finest  deciduous  trees-then  brown  and  leafless,  but 
.   beanngpromise  of  the  opening  beauty  of  spring-reared, 
along  wrth  the  unfading  evergreen,  their  tall  stems  in 
he  air.    The  hve-oak,  the  sycamore,  the  Spanish  mul- 
berry,  the  hoUy    and  the  pershnmon-gaily  festooned 
with  wreaths  of  the  white  .nd  yeUow  jessamine,  the 
woodbme  and  the  cypress-moss,  and  beal-ing  here  and 
there  a  bouquet  of  the  mistletoe,  with  its  deep  green  and 
glossy  leaves  upturned  to  the  smi-flung  thL  broad 
arms  over  the  road,  forming  an  archway  grander  and 
more  beautiful  than  any  the  hand  of  rnJeL  wove  for 
the  greatest  hero  the  world  has  worshipped 

The  woods  were  fi-ee  from  underbrush,  and  a  coarse 
wiry  grass,  unfit  for  fodder,  and  scattered  thi-ough  them' 
m  detatched  patches,  was  the  only  vegetation  visible. 
The  ground  was  mamly  covered  with  the  leaves  and 
burrs  of  the  pme. 

We  passed  great  numbers  of  swine,  feeding  on  these 
bm-rs,  and  now  and  then  a  homed  animal  browsing  on 
the  cypress-moss  where  it  hung  low  on  the  trees.  I  ob- 
.erved  that  nearly  aU  the  swine  were  marked,  though 
they  seemed  too  wild  to  have  ever  seen  an  owner,  or  a 
human  habitation.  They  were  a  long,  lean,  slab-sided 
race,  with  legs  and  shoulders  Uke  deer,  and  bearmg  • 
oo  sort  of  resemblance  to  the  ordinary  I,og,  except  in 


212  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

the  snout,  and  tliat  feature  was  so  much  longer  and 
sharper  than  the  nose  of  the  ISTorthern  swine,  that  I 
doubt  if  Agassiz  would  class  the  two  as  one  species. 
However,  they  have  their  uses — they  make  excellent 
bacon,  and  are  "  death  on  snakes."  Ireland  itself  is  not 
more  free  fi'om  the  serpentine  race  than  are  the  districts 
frequented  by  these  long-nosed  quadrupeds. 

"  We  call  them  CaroHna  race-horses,"  said  the  Colonel, 
as  he  finished  an  account  of  their  peculiarities. 

"Race-horses!  Why,  are  they  fleet  of  foot?" 

'"  Fleet  as  deer.  I'd  match  one  against  an  ordinary 
horse  at  any  time." 

"  Come,  my  friend,  you're  practising  on  my  ignorance 
of  natural  history." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  See!  there's  a  good  specunen 
yonder.  K  we  can  get  him  into  the  road,  and  faii'ly 
started,  I'll  bet  you  a  dollar  he'll  beat  Sandy's  mare  on 
a  half-mile  stretch— Sandy  to  hold  the  stakes  and  have 
the  winnings." 

"  Well,  agreed,"  I  said,  laughing,  "  and  I'll  give  the 
pig  ten  rods  the  start." 

"  No,"  replied  the  Colonel,  "  you  can't  afford  it. 
He'U  have  to  start  ahead,  but  you'll  need  that  in  the 
count.     Come,  Sandy,  will  you  go  in  for  the  pile  ?" 

I'm  not  sure  that  the  native  would  not  have  run  a 
race  with  Old  Nicholas  himself,  for  the  sake  of  so  much 
money.  To  him  it  was  a  vast  sum  ;  and  as  he  thought 
of  it,  his  eyes  struck  small  sparks,  and  his  enormous 
beard  and   mustachio   vibrated  with    something  that 


THE   PUKSUIT.  213 

faintly  resembled  a  laugh.  Replying  to  the  question, 
he  said : 

"  Kinder  reckon  I  wull,  Gunnel;  howsomdever,  I  keeps 
the  stakes,  ony  how  ?" 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  planter,  "  but  be  honest — win 
if  you  can." 

Sandy  halted  his  horse  in  the  road,  while  the  planter 
and  I  took  to  the  woods  on  either  side  of  the  way.  The 
Colonel  soon  manoeuvred  to  separate  the  selected  ani- 
mal from  the  rest  of  the  herd,  and,  without  much  diffi- 
culty, got  him  into  the  road,  where,  by  closing  down  on 
each  flank,  we  kept  him  till  he  and  Sandy  were  fairly 
under  way. 

"  He'll  keep  to  the  road  when  once  started,"  said  the 
Colonel,  laughing:  "and  he'll  show  you  some  of  the 
tallest  running  you  ever  saw  in  your  life." 

Away  they  went.  At  first  the  pig,  seeming  not  ex- 
actly to  comprehend  the  programme,  cantered  ofi*  at 
a  leisurely  pace,  though  he  held  his  own.  Soon,  how- 
ever, he  cast  an  eye  behind  him — ^halted  a  moment  to 
collect  his  thoughts  and  reconnoitre — and  then,  lower- 
ing his  head  and  elevating  his  tail,  put  forth  all  his 
speed.  And  such  speed !  Talk  of  a  deer,  the  wind,  or 
a  steam-engme — they  are  not  to  be  compared  with  it, 
Nothing  in  nature  I  ever  saw  run — except,  it  may  be,  a 
Southern  tornado,  or  a  Sixth  Ward  politician — could 
hope  to  distance  that  pig.  He  gained  on  the  horse  at 
every  step,  and  it  was  soon  evident  that  my  dollar  was 
gone! 


214  AMONG   THE   PIKES. 

"  *  In  for  a  sliiHing,  in  for  a  pound,'  is  the  adage,  so, 
turning  to  the  Colonel,  I  said,  as  intelligibly  as  my 
horse's  rapid  pace  and  my  excited  risibilities  wouid 
allow : 

"  I  see  I've  lost,  but  I'll  go  you  another  dollar  that 
you  can't  beat  the  pig!" 

"  No — sii- !"  the  Colonel  got  out  in  the  breaks  of  his 
laughing  explosions";  "  you  can't  hedge  on  me  in  that 
manner.  I'll  go  a  dollar  that  you  can't  do  it,  and  your 
mare  is  the  fastest  on  the  road.  She  won  me  a  thou- 
sand not  a  month  asro." 

"  Well,  I'll  do  it — Sandy  to  have  the  stakes." 

"  Agreed,"  said  the  Colonel,  and  away  we  went. 

The  swinish  racer  was  about  a  hundred  yards  ahead 
when  I  gave  the  mare  the  reins,  and  told  her  to  go. 
And  she  did  go.  She  flew  against  the  wind  with  a  mo- 
tion so  rapid  that  my  face,  as  it  clove  the  air,  felt  as  if 
cutting  its  way  through  a  soHd  body,  and  the  trees,  as 
we  passed,  seemed  struck  with  panic,  and  running  for 
dear  life  in  the  opposite  direction. 

For  a  few  moments  I  thought  the  mare  was  gaining, 
and  I  turned  to  the  Colonel  with  an  exultant  look. 

"Don't  shout  till  you  win,  my  boy,"  he  called  out 
from  the  distance  where  I  was  fast  leaving  him  and 
Sandy. 

I  did  not  shout^  for  spite  of  all  my  efforts  the  space 
between  me  and  the  pig  seemed  to  widen.  Yet  I  kept 
on,  determined  to  win,  tiU,  at  the  end  of  a  short  lialf- 
mile,  we  reached  the  Waccamaw — the  swine  still   a 


THE  ruKsriT.  215 

hundred  yards  ahead!  There  his  pigship  halted,  turn- 
ed  coolly- around,  eyed  me  for  a  moment,  then  with  a 
quiet,  dehberate  trot,  turned  off  into  the  woods. 

A  bend  in  the  road  kept  my  companions  out  of  sight 
for  a  few  moments,  and  when  they  came  up  I  had  some- 
what recovered  my  breath,  though  the  mare  was  blow- 
ing hard,  and  reeking  with  foam. 

"  "Well,"  said  the  Colonel,  "what  do  you  think  of  our 
bacon  '  as  it  runs  ?'  " 

"  I  think  the  Southern  article  can't  be  beat,  whether 
raw  or  cooked,  standing  or  running." 

At  this  moment  the  hound,  who  had  been  leisurely 
jogging  along  in  the  rear,  disdaining  to  join  in  the  race 
in  which  his  dogr  of  a  master  and  I  had  enorajred,  came 
up,  and  dashing  quickly  on  to  the  river's  e.dge,  set  up 
a  most  dismal  howling.  The  Colonel  dismounted,  and 
clambering  down  the  bank,  which  was  there  twenty  feet 
high,  and  very  steep,  shouted : 

"  The  d — d  Yankee  has  swum  the  stream !" 

"  Why  so  ?"  I  asked. 

"  To  cover  his  tracks  and  delay  pursuit ;  but  he  has 
overshot  the  mark.  There  is  no  other  road  within  ten 
miles,  and  he  must  have  taken  to  this  one  again  beyond 
here.  He's  lost  twenty  minutes  by  this  manoeuvre.  Come, 
Sandy,  call  in  the  dog,  we'll  push  on  a  little  faster." 

"  But  he  tuk  to  t'other  bank,  Cunnel.  Shan't  we  trail 
him  thar  ?"  asked  Sandy. 

*'  And  suppose  he  found  a  boat  here,"  I  suggested, 
"  and  made  the  shore  some  ways  down  ?" 


216  AMONG   THE    TINES. 

"  He  couldn't  get  Firefly  into  a  flat — we  slioiild  only 
waste  time  'm  scouring  the  other  bank.  The  swamp 
this  side  the  next  run  has  forced  him  into  the  road 
within  five  miles.  The  trick  is  transparent.  He  took 
me  for  a  fool,"  replied  the  Colonel,  answering  both  ques- 
tions at  once. 

I  had  reined  my  horse  out  of  the  road,  and  when  my 
companions  turned  to  go,  was  standing  at  the  edge  ot 
the  bank,  overlookuig  the  river.  Suddenly  I  saw,  on 
one  of  the  abutments  of  the  bridge,  what  seemed  a  long, 
black  log — strange  to  say,  in  motion  ! 

"  Colonel,"  I  shouted,  "  see  there !  a  Kve  log  as  I'm  a 
white  man !" 

"  Lord  bless  you,"  cried  the  planter,  taking  an  observa- 
tion, "  it's  an  alligator !" 

I  said  no  more,  but  pressing  on  after  the  hound,  soon 
left  my  companions  out  of  sight.  For  long  afterward, 
the  Colonel,  in  a  doleful  way,  would  allude  to  my  la- 
mentable deficiency  in  natural  history — particularly  in 
such  branches  as  bacon  and  "live  logs." 

I  had  ridden  about  five  miles,  keeping  well  up  with 
the  hound,  and  had  reached  the  edge  of  the  swamp, 
when  suddenly  the  dog  darted  to  the  side  of  the  road, 
and  began  to  yelp  in  the  most  frantic  manner.  Dis- 
mounting, and  leading  my  horse  to  the  spot,  I  made  out 
plainly  the  print  of  Firefly's  feet  in  the  sand.  There 
was  no  mistakinjy  it — that  round  shoe  on  the  off  fore- 
foot.  (The  horse  had,  when  a  colt,  a  cracked  hoof,  and 
though  the  wound  was  outgrown,  the  foot  was  still  ten- 


THE    PUSSUIT.  217 

der.)  These  prints  were  dry,  while  the  tracks  we  had 
Been  at  the  river  were  filled  with  water,  thus  provuig 
that  tie  rain  had  ceased  while  the  overseer  was  passing 
between  the  two  places.     He  was  therefore  not  far  off. 

Tlie  Colonel  and  Sandy  soon  rode  up. 

"  Caught  a  live  log !  eh,  my  good  fellow  ?"  asked  my 
host,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Xo ;  but  here's  the  overseer  as  plain  as  daylight ; 
and  his  tracks  not  wet !" 

Quickly  dismounting,  he  examined  the  ground,  and 
then  exclaimed: 

"  The  d — 1 it's  a  fact — here  not  four  hours  ago ! 

He  has  doubled  on  his  tracks  since,  I'll  wager,  and  not 
made  twenty  miles — we'll  have  him  before  night,  sure ! 
Come,  mount — quick." 

We  sprang  into  our  saddles,  and  again  pressed  rapidly 
on  after  the  dog,  who  followed  the  scent  at  the  top  of 
his  speed. 

Some  three  miles  more  of  wet,  miiy  road  took  us  to 
the  run  of  which  the  Colonel  had  spoken.  Arrived 
there,  we  found  the  hound  standing  on  the  bank,  wet  to 
the  skin,  and  looking  decidely  chop-fallen. 

"  Death  and  d n !"  shouted  the  Colonel ;  "  the  dog 

has  swum  the  run,  and  lost  the  trail  on  the  other  side  ! 
The  d — d  scoundrel  has  taken  to  the  water,  and  balked 
us  after  all !  Take  up  the  dog,  Sandy,  and  try  him  again 
over  there." 

The  native  spoke  to  Csesar,  who  bounded  on  to  the 
horse's  back  in  front  of  his  master.  They  then  crossed 
10 


218  AMONG 

the  stream,  which  there  was  about  fifty  yards  wide,  and 
so  shallow  that  in  the  deepest  part  the  water  merely 
touched  the  horse's  breast ;  but  it  was  so  roiled  by  the 
recent  rain  that  we  could  not  distinguish  the  foot-prints 
of  the  horse  beneath  the  surface. 

The  dog  ranged  up  and  down  the  opposite  bank,  but 
all  to  no  purpose :  the  overseer  had  not  been  there. 
■  He  had  gone  either  up  or  down  the  stream — in  which 
direction,  was  now  the  question.  Calling  Sandy  back 
to  our  side  of  the  run,  the  Colonel  "proceeded  to  hold  a 
*  council  of  war.'  Each  one  gave  his  opinion,  which  was 
canvassed  by  the  others,  with  as  much  solemnity  as  if 
the  fate  of  the  Union  hung  on  the  decision. 

The  native  proposed  we  should  separate — one  go 
up,  another  down  the  stream,  and  the  third,  with  the 
dog,  follow  the  road ;  to  which  he  thought  Moye  had 
finally  returned.  Those  who  should  explore  the  run 
would  easily  detect  the  horse's  tracks  where  he  had 
left  it,  and  then  taking  a  straight  course  to  the  road, 
all  might  meet  some  five  miles  fm-ther  on,  at  a  place 
indicated. 

I  gave  my  adhesion  to  Sandy's  plan,  but  the  Colonel 
overruled  it  on  the  ground  of  the  waste  of  time  that 
would  be  incurred  in  thus  recovering  the  overseer's 
trail. 

"Why  not,"  he  said,  "  strike  at  once  for  the  end  of  his 
route  ?  Why  follow  the  slow  steps  he  took  in  order  to 
throw  us  ofi*  the  track  ?  He  has  not  come  back  to  this 
road.     Ten  miles  below  there  is  another  one  leading  also 


THE   PUESCIT.  219 

to  the  railway.  He  has  taken  that.  "We  might  as 
well  send  Sandy  and  the  dog  back  and  go  on  by  our- 
selves." 

"  But  if  bound  for  the  Station,  why  should  he  wade 
thi'ough  the  creek  here,  ten  miles  out  of  his  way  ?  Why 
not  go  straight  on  by  the  road  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Because  he  knew  the  dog  would  track  him,  and  he 
hoped  by  taking  to  the  run  to  make  me  think  he 
had  crossed  the  coimtry  instead  of  striking  for  the  rail- 
road." 

I  felt  sure  the  Colonel  was  wrong,  but  knowing  him 
to  be  tenacious  of  his  own  opinions,  I  made  no  further 
objection. 

Du'ecting  Sandy  to  call  on  Madam  P and  acquaint 

her  with  our  progress,  he  then  dismissed  the  negro- 
hunter,  and  once  more  led  the  way  up  the  road. 

The  next  twenty  miles,  Hke  our  previous  route,  lay 
throu2^h  an  unbroken  forest.  As  we  left  the  water- 
courses,  we  saw  only  the  gloomy  pines,  which  there — 
the  region  being  remote  from  the  means  of  transporta- 
tion— were  seldom  tapped,  and  presented  few  of  the 
openings  that  incite  the  weary  traveller  to  the  dwelhng 
of  the  hospitable  planter. 

After  a  time  the  sky,  which  had  been  bright  and 
cloudless  all  the  morning,  grew  overcast,  and  gave  out 
tokens  of  a  coming  storm.  A  black  cloud  gathered  in 
the  west,  and  random  flashes  darted  from  it  far  off  in 
the  distance ;  then  gradually  it  neared  us ;  low  mutter- 
ings  sounded  in  the  air,  and  the  tops  of  the  tall  pines  a 


220  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

few  miles  away,  were  lit  up  now  and  then  witli  a  fitful 
blaze,  all  the  brighter  for  the  deeper  gloom  that  suc- 
ceeded. Then  a  terrific  flash  and  peal  broke  directly 
over  us,  and  a  great  tree,  struck  by  a  red-hot  bolt,  fell 
with  a  deafening  crash,  half  way  across  our  path.  Peal 
after  peal  followed,  and  then  the  rain — not  filtered  into 
drops  as  it  falls  from  our  colder  sky,  but  in  broad,  blind- 
ing sheets — poured  full  and  heavy  on  our  shelterless 
hen.ds. 

"Ah!  there  it  comes !"  shouted  the  ColoneL  "God 
have  mercy  upon  us !" 

As  he  sjDoke,  a  crashing,  crackling,  thundering  roar 
rose  above  the  storm,  fiUing  the  air,  and  shaking  the 
solid  earth  till  it  trembled  beneath  our  horses'  feet,  as  if 
upheaved  by  a  volcano.  ]N"earer  and  nearer  the  sound 
came,  tiU  it  seemed  that  aU  the  legions  of  darkness  were 
unloosed  in  the  forest,  and  were  mowing  do^vn  the  great 
pines  as  the  mower  mows  the  grass  with  his  scythe. 
Then  an  awful,  sweeping  crash  thundered  directly  at  our 
backs,  and  turning  round,  as  if  to  face  a  foe,  my  horse, 
who  had  borne  the  roar  and  the  blinding  flash  tiU  then 
unmoved,  paralyzed  with  dread,  and  panting  for  breath, 
sunk  to  the  ground ;  while  close  at  my  side  the  Colonel, 
standing  erect  in  his  stirrups,  his  head  uncovered  to  the 
pouring  sky,  cried  out : 

"Thank  God,  we  are  saved!"    . 

There — not  three  hundi-ed  yards  in  our  rear,  had  pass- 
ed the  TOEXADO — uprooting  trees,  prostrating  dwellings, 
and  sending  many  a  soul  to  its  last  account,  but  sparing 


THE   PUESUTT.  221 

US  for  aiiotlicr  Jay !  For  tliii-ty  miles  tlirougli  the  forest 
it  had  mowed  a  swath  of  two  hundred  feet,  and  then 
moved  on  to  sth*  the  ocean  to  its  briny  depths. 

"With  a  full  heart,  I  remounted,  and  turning  my  horse, 
pressed  on  in  the  rain.  We  said  not  a  word  till  a  friend- 
ly opening  pointed  the  way  to  a  planter's  dwelling. 
Then  calling  to  me  f o  follow,  the  Colonel  dashed  up  the 
by-path  which  led  to  the  mansion,  and  in  five  minutes 
we  were  warmim?  our  chilled  limbs  before  the  cheerful 
fire  that  roared  and  crackled  on  its  broad  hearth-stone. 


223  AMONG   THE   PINES. 


-     CHAPTER  Xn. 

THE    YANKEE-SCHOOL-MISTRESS. 

The  house  was  a  large,  old-fashioned  frame  building, 
square  as  a  packing-box,  and  surrounded,  as  all  country 
dwellings  at  the  South  are,  by  a  broad,  open  piazza. 
Our  summons  was  answered  by  its  owner,  a  well-to-do, 
substantial,  middle-aged  planter,  wearing  the  ordinary 
homespun  of  the  district,  but  evidently  of  a  station  in 
life  much  above  the  common  "  corn-crackers"  I  had  seen 
at  the  coimtry  meeting-house.  The  Colonel  was  an  ac- 
quaintance, and  greeting  us  with  great  cordiality,  our 
host  led  the  way  du-ectly  to  the  sitting-room.  There  we 
found  a  bright,  blazing  fire,  and  a  pair  of  bright  sparkling 
eyes,  the  latter  belonging  to  a  bhthesome  young  woman 
of  about  twenty,  with  a  cheery  face,  and  a  half-rustic, 
half-cultivated  ah-,  whom  our  new  friend  introduced  to 
us  as  his  wife. 

"  I  regret  not  having  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  MrSw 

S before,  but  am  very  happy  to  meet  her  now,"  said 

the  Colonel,  with  all  the  well-bred,  gentlemanly  ease  that 
distinguished  him. 

"  The  pleasure  is  mutual.  Colonel  J ,"  replied  the 

lady,  "  but  thirty  miles  ia  this  wild  country,  should  not 
have  made  a  neighbor  so  distant  as  you  have  been." 


THE   YANKEE    SCHOOL-MISTKESS.  223 

'^'  Business,  madam,  is  at  fault,  as  your  husband  knows. 
I  have  much  to  do ;  and  besides,  all  my  connections  are 
in  the  other  direction — with  Charleston." 

"It's  a  fact,  Sally,  the  Colonel  is  the  d busy 

man  in  these  parts.  Kot  content  with  a  big  planta- 
tion and  three  hundred  niggers,  he  looks  after  all 
South  Carolina,  and  the  rest  of  creation  to  boot,"  said 
our  host. 

"  Tom  will  have  his  joke,  Madain,  but  he's  not  far 
from  the  truth." 

Seeing  we  were  dripping  wet,  the  lady  offered  us  a 
change  of  clothing,  and  reth'ing  to  a  chambo*,  we  each 
appropriated  a  suit  belonging  to  our  host,  giving  our 
own  to  a  servant,  to  be  dried. 

Ai'rayed  in  our  fresh  apparel,  we  soon  rejoined  our 
friends  in  the  sitting-room.  The  new  garments  fitted 
the  Colonel  tolerably  well,  but,  though  none  too  long, 
they  were  a  world  too  wide  for  me,  and  as  my  wet  hau- 
hung  in  smooth  flat  folds  down  my  cheeks,  and  my  limp 
shirt-collar  fell  over  my  Unsey  coat,  I  looked  for  all  the 
world  hke  a  cross  between  a  theatrical  Aminadab  Sleek 
and  Su'  John  Falstaff,  with  the  stuffing  omitted.  When 
our  hostess  caught  sight  of  me  in  this  new  garb,  she 
rubbed  her  hands  together  in  great  glee,  and,  sprmging 
to  her  feet,  gave  vent  to  a  perfect  storm  of  laughter — 
jerking  out  between  the  explosions : 

"Why — you — you — look  jest  hke — a  scare-crow." 
There  was  no  mistaking  that  hearty,  hoydenish  man- 
ner ;  and  seizing  both  of  her  hands  in  mine,  I  shouted : 


224  A]^i6ng  the  pines. 

"I've  found  you  out — you're  a  "country-woman"  oi 
mine — a  clear-blooded  Yankee !" 

"What!  you  a  Yankee!"  she  exclaimed,  still  laugh- 
mg,  "  and  here  with  this  horrid  '  secesherner,'  as  they 
call  him."  . 

"True  as  preachin',  Ma'am,"  I  replied,  adopting  the 

drawl — "  all  the  way  from  Down  East,  and  Union,  tu, 

stiff  as  buckram." 

"Du  tell !"  she  exclaimed,  swinging  my  hands  together 

as  she  held  them  in  hers.     "  If  I  warn't  hitched  to  this 

'ere  feller,  I'd  give  ye  a  smack  right  on  the  spot.     I'm 

so  glad  to  see  ye." 

"  Do  it,  Sally — never  mind  me,"  cried  her  husband, 
joining  heartily  in  the  merriment. 

Seizing  the  collar  of  my  coat  with  both  hands,  she 
drew  my  face  down  till  my  lips  almost  touched  hers  (I 
was  preparing  to  blush,  and  the  Colonel  shouted,  "Come, 
come,  I  shall  tell  his  wife") :  but  then  turning  quickly 
on  her  heel,  she  threw  herself  into  a  chair,  exclaiming, 
"7"  wouldn't  mind,  but  the  old  maan  would  he  jealous?^ 
Addressing  the  Colonel,  she  added,  "  Jow  needn't  be 
troubled,  sir,  no  Yankee  gM  will  kiss  you  till  you  change 
your  politics." 

^  "  Give  me  that  inducement,  and  I'll  change  them  on 
the  spot,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"  No,  no,  Dave,  'twouldn't  do,"  replied  the  planter ; 
"the  conversion  wouldn't  be  genu  wine — besides  such 
things  arn't  proper,  except  'mong  blood-relations — and 
ail  the  Yankees,  you  know  are  first-cousins." 


THE   PUKSUIT.  225 

The  conversation  then  subsided  into  a  more  placid 
mood,  but  lost  none  of  its  genial,  good  humor.  Ke- 
freshments  were  soon  set  before  us,  and  while  partaking 
of  them  I  gathered  from  our  hostess  that  she  was  a  Ver- 
mont country-gii'l,  who,  some  three  years  before,  had 
been  induced  by  liberal  pay  to  come  South  as  a  teacher. 
A  sister  accompanied  her,  and  about  a  year  after  their  ar- 
rival, she  married  a  neighboring  planter.  Wishing  to  be 
near  her  sister,  our  hostess  had  also  married  and  settled 
down  for  life  in  that  v/ild  region.  "I  like  the  country 
very  well,"  she  added ;  "  it's  a  great  sight  easier  li™g 
here  than  in  Vermont ;  but  I  do  hate  these  lazy,  shiftless, 
good-for-nothing  niggers ;  they  are  so  slow,  and  so  care- 
less, and  so  dii'ty,  that  I  sometimes  think  they  will  worry 
the  very  life  out  of  me.  I  do  believe  I'm  the  hardest 
mistress  in  all  the  district." 

I  learned  from  her  that  a  majority  of  the  teachers  at 
the  South  are  from  the  North,  and  principally,  too,  from 
"New  England.  Teaching  is  a  very  laborious  employ- 
ment there,  far  more  so  than  with  us,  for  the-  Southern- 
ers have  no  methods  like  ours,  and  the  same  teacher 
usually  has  to  hear  lessons  in  branches  all  the  way  from 
Greek  and  Latin  to  the  simple  ABC.  The  South  has 
no  system  of  public  instruction ;  no  common  schools ; 
no  means  of  placing  within  the  reach  of  the  sons  and 
daughters  of  the  poor  even  the  elements  of  knowl- 
edge. While  the  children  of  the  wealthy  are  most  care- 
fully educated,  it  is  the  policy  of  the  ruling  class  to  keep 
the  great  mass  of  the  people  in  ignorance ;  and  so  long 
10* 


226  AMONG   TUE   PINES. 

as  this  policy  continues,  so  long  will  tliat  section  be  as 
far  behind  the  Korth  as  it  now  is,  in  all  that  constitutes 
true  prosperity  and  greatness. 

The  afternoon  wore  rapidly  and  pleasantly  away  in 
the  genial  society  of  our  wayside-friends.  Politics  were 
discussed  (our  host  was  a  Union  man),  the  prospects  of 
the  turpentine  crop  talked  over,  the  recent  news  can- 
vassed, the  usual  neighborly  topics  touched  upon,  and — 
I  hesitate  to  confess  it — a  considerable  quantity  of  corn 
whiskey  disposed  of,  before  the  Colonel  discovered,  all 
at  once,  that  it  was  six  o'clock,  and  we  were  still  seven- 
teen miles  from  the  railway  station.  Arraying  our- 
selves again  in  our  dried  garments,  we  bade  a  hasty  but 
regretful  "  good-bye"  to  our  hospitable  entertainers,  and 
once  more  took  to  the  road. 

The  storm  had  cleared  away,  but  the  ground  was 
heavy  with  the  recent  rain,  and  our  horses  were  sadly 
jaded  with  the  ride  of  the  morning.  We  gave  them  the 
reins,  and,  jogging  on  at  their  leisure,  it  was  ten  o'clock 
at  night  before  they  landed  us  at  the  little  hamlet  of 
W Station,  in  the  state  of  North  Carohna. 


THE   RAILWAY    STATION.  227 


CHAPTER  Xm. 


THE    RAILWAY    STATION. 


A  LAEGE  hotel,  or  station-house,  and  about  a  dozen 
log  shanties  made  up  the  Tillage.  Two  of  these  struc- 
tures were  negro-cabins ;  two  were  small  groceries,  in 
which  the  vilest  alcohohc  compounds  were  sold  at  a  bit 
(ten  cents)  a  glass ;  one  was  a  lawyer's  office,  in  which 
was  the  post-office,  and  a  justice's  court,  where,  once 
a  month,  the  small  offenders  of  the  vicinity  "  settled  up 
their  accounts ;"  one  was  a  tailoring  and  clothing  estab- 
lishment, where  breeches  were  patched  at  a  dime  a 
stitch,  and  payment  taken  in  tar  and  turj^entine;  and 
the  rest  were  private  dwellings  of  one  apartment,  occu- 
j^ied  by  the  grocers,  the  tailor,  the  switch-tenders,  the 
postmaster,  and  the  negro  attaches  of  the  railroad. 
The  chm'ch  and  the  school-house — the  first  buildings  to 
go  up  in  a  Northern  village — I  have  omitted  to  enumer- 
ate, because — they  were  not  there. 

One  of  the  natives  told  me  that  the  lawyer  was  a 
"  stuck-up  critter  ;"  "  he  don't  live;  he  don't — he  puts-up 
at  th'  hotel."  And  the  hotel!  Would  Shakspeare,  had 
he  have  known  it,  have  written  of  taking  one's  ease 
at  his  inn  ?     It  was  a  long,  framed  building,  two  stories 


223  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

high,  with  a  piazza  extending  across  the  side  and  a 
front  door  crowded  as  closely  into  one  corner  as  the 
width  of  the  joist  would  permit.  Under  the  piazza, 
ranged  along  the  wall,  was  a  low  bench,  occupied  by 
about  forty  tin  wash-basins  and  water-pails,  and  with 
coarse,  dirty  crash  towels  suspended  on  rollers  above  it. 
By  the  side  of  each  of  these  towels  hung  a  comb  and  a 
brush,  to  which  a  lock  of  everybody's  hair  was  clinging, 
forming  in  the  total  a  stock  sufficient  to  estabhsh  any 
barber  in  the  wig  business. 

It  was,  as  I  have  said,  ten  o'clock  when  we  reached 
the  Station.  Throwing  the  bridles  of  our  horses  over 
the  hitching-posts  at  the  door,  we  at  once  made  our 
way  to  the  bar-room.  That  apartment,  wliich  was  m 
the  rear  of  the  building,  and  communicated  with  by  a 
long,  narrow  passage,  was  filled  almost  to  suffocation, 
when  we  entered,  by  a  cloud  of  tobacco  smoke,  the  fumes 
of  bad  whiskey,  and  a  crowd  of  drunken  chivalry,  through 
whom  the  Colonel  with  great  difiiculty  elbowed  his  way 
to  the  counter,  where  "mine  host"  and  two  assistants 
were  dispensing  "  hquid  death,"  at  the  rate  of  ten  cents 
a  glass,  and  of  ten  glasses  a  minute. 

"  Hello,  Gunnel,  how  ar'  ye,"  cried  the  red-faced 
liquor-vender,  as  he  caught  sight  of  my  companion,  and, 
rehnquishing  his  lucrative  employment  for  a  moment, 
took  the  Colonel's  hand,  "  how  ar'  ye  ?" 

"  Quite  well,  thank  you.  Miles,"  said  the  Colonel, 
with  a  certain  patronizing  air,  "  have  you  seen  my  man, 
Moye  ?" 


THE   RAILWAY   STATION.  229 


«ijv 


"Moje,  no  !     What's  up  witli  him  ?' 

"  He's  run  away  with  my  horse,  Firefly — I  thought 
he  would  have  made  for  this  station.  At  what  time  does 
the  next  train  go  up  ?" 

"  Wal,  it's  due  half  arter  'leven,  but  'taint  gin'rally 
'lonoj  till  nio[h  one." 

The  Colonel  was  turning  to  join  me  at  the  door, 
when  a  weU-dressed  yoimg  man  of  very  unsteady  move- 
ments, who  was  fiUing  a  glass  at  the  counter,  and  star- 
ing at  him  with  a  sort  of  dreamy  amazement,  stammered 
out,  "  Moye — run — run  a — way,  zir !  that — k — kant  be 
— ^by  G — .  I  know — him,  zir — he's  a — a  friend  of  mine, 
and — I'm — I'm  d d  if  he  aui't  hon — honest."   ♦ 

"  About  as  honest  as  the  Yankees  run,"  replied  the 
Colonel,  "  he's  a  d d  thief,  su' !" 

"Look  here — here,  zir — don't — don't  you — you  zay 

any — thing  'gainst — the    Yankees.      D d  if — if  I 

aint — one  of  'em  mezelf — zir,"  said  the  fellow  stagger- 
ins:  toward  the  Colonel. 

"7" don't  care  ichat  you  are;  you're  drunk." 

"  You  he — you — you    d d  'ris — 'ristocrat,"   was 

the  reply,  as  the  inebriated  gentleman  aimed  a  blow, 
with  all  his  unsteady  might,  at  the  Colonel's  face. 

The  South  Carolinian  stepped  quickly  aside,  and  dex- 
terously threw  his  foot  before  the  other,  who — ^his  blow 
not  meeting  the  expected  resistance — was  unable  to  re- 
cover himself,  and  feU  headlong  to  the  floor.  The  planter 
turned  on  his  heel,  and  was  walking  quietly  away,  when 
the  sharp  report  of  a  pistol  sounded  through  the  apart- 


230  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

ment,  and  a  ball  tore  througL.  the  tojD  of  Ms  boot, 
and  lodged  in  the  wall  withm  two  feet  of  where  I  was 
standing.  With  a  spring,  quick  and  sure  as  the  tiger's, 
the  Colonel  was  on  the  drunken  man.  Wrenchins;  away 
the  weapon,  he  seized  the  fellow  by  the  neck-tie,  and 
drawing  him  up  to  nearly  his  full  height,  dashed  him  at 
one  throw  to  the  other  end  of  the  room.  Then  raisins: 
the  revolver  he  coolly  levelled  it  to  fire ! 

But  a  dozen  strong  men  were  on  him.  The  pistol 
was  out  of  his  hand,  and  his  arms  were  pinioned  in  an 
instant ;  while  cries  of  "  Fair  play,  sir  !"  "  He's  drunk  !" 
"  Don't  hit  a  man  when  he's  down,"  and  other  like  ex- 
clamations, came  from  all  sides. 

"  Give    me  fair   play,  you   d d  North   Carolina 

hounds,"  cried  the  Colonel,  struggling  violently  to  get 
away,  "  and  I'll  fight  the  whole  posse  of  you." 

"  One's  'nuff  for  you,  ye  d d  fire-eatin'  'ristocrat ;" 

said  a  long,  lean,  bushy-haired,  be-whiskered  individual, 
who  was  standing  near  the  counter :  "  ef  ye  want  to 
fight,  ni  'tend  to  yer  case  to  onst.  Let  him  go,  boys," 
he  continued  as  he  stepped  toward  the  Colonel,  and 
parted  the  crowd  that  had  gathered  around  him  :  "  give 
him  the  shootin'-iron,  and  let's  see  ef  he'U  take  a  man 
thet's  sober." 

I  saw  serious  trouble  was  impending,  and  stepping 
forward,  I  said  to  the  last  speaker,  "  My  friend,  you 
have  no  quarrel  ^vith  this  gentleman.  He  has  treated 
that  man  only  as  you  would  have  done." 

"  P'raps   thet's   so  ;  but  he's  a  d d  hound  of  a 


THE   RAILWAY   STATION.  231 

Secesherner  thet's  draggiii'  us  all  to  h — 11 ;  it'll  du  tlie 
country  good  to  git  quit  of  one  on  'em." 

"  TVTiatever  his  politics  are,  he's  a  gentleman,  sii*,  and 
has  done  you  no  harm — ^let  me  beg  of  you  to  let  him 
alone." 

"  Don't  beg  any  thing  for  me,  Mr.  K ,"  growled 

the  Colonel  through  his  barred  teeth,  "I'll  fight  the 
d d  corn-cracker,  and  his  whole  race,  at  once." 

"  Xo  you  won't,  my  Mend.  For  the  sake  of  those  at 
home  you  won't ;"  I  said,  taking  him  by  the  arm,  and 
partly  leading,  partly  forcing  him,  toward  the  door. 

"  And  who  in  h — U  ar  you  ?"  asked  the  corn-cracker, 
planting  himself  squarely  in  my  way. 

"  I'm  on  the  same  side  of  politics  with  you,  Union  to 
the  core  !"  I  replied. 

"  Ye  ar !  Union !     Then  give  us  yer  fist,"  said  he, 

grasping  me  by  the  hand ;  "  by it  does  a  feller  good 

to  see  a  man  dressed  in  yer  does  thet  haint  'fraid  to  say 
he's  Union,  so  close  to  South  Car'lina,  tu,  as  this  ar ! 
Come,  hev  a  drink :  come  boys — all  round — let's  liquor !" 

"  Excuse  me  now,  my  dear  fellow — some  other  time 
I'll  be  glad  to  join  you." 

"  Jest  as  ye  say,  but  thar's  my  fist,  enyhow." 

He  gave  me  another  hearty  shake  of  the  hand,  and  the 
crowd  parting,  I  made  my  way  with  the  Colonel  out  of 
the  room.  We  were  followed  by  Miles,  the  landlord, 
who,  when  we  had  reached  the  front  of  the  entrance- 
way,  said,  "  I'm  right  sorry  for  this  row,  gentlemen ;  the 
boys  will  hev  a  time  when  they  gets  together." 


232  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

"  Oh,  never  mind :"  said  tlie  Colonel,  who  had  recov- 
covered  his  coolness;  "but  why  "are  all  these  people 
here?"    - 

"  Thar's  a  barbacue  cumin'  off  to-morrer  on  the  camp- 
ground, and  the  house  is  cram  foil." 

"  Is  that  so  ?"  said  the  Colonel,  then  turning  to  me 
he  added,  "  Moye  has  taken  the  railroad  somewhere  else ; 
I  must  get  to  a  telegraph  office  at  once,  to  head  him  off. 
The  nearest  one  is  Wilmington.  "With  all  these  rowdies 
here,  it  will  not  do  to  leave  the  horses  alone — will  you 
stay  and  keep  an  eye  on  them  over  to-morrow  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  wiU,  cheerfully." 

"  Thar's  a  mighty  hard  set,  round  har  now,  Cunnel," 
said  the  landlord ;  "  and  the  most  peaceable  get  enter 
scrapes  ef  they  hain't  no  friends.  Hadn't  ye  better 
show  the  gentleman  some  of  your'n,  'fore  you  go  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  didn't  think  of  that.     Who  is  here  ?" 

"Wal,  thar's  Cunnel  Taylor,  Bill  Barnes,  Sam  Hed- 
dleson,  Jo  Shackelford,  Andy  Jones,  Rob  Brown,  and 
lots  of  others." 

"  Where's  Andy  Jones  ?" 

"  Reckon  he's  turned  in  ;  I'll  see." 

As  the  landlord  opened  a  door  which  led  from  the 
hall,  the  Colonel  said  to  me,  "  Andy  is  a  Union  man ; 
but  he'd  fight  to  the  death  for  me." 

"  Sal !"  called  out  the  hotel  keeper. 

"  Yas,  massa,  I'se  har,"  was  the  answer  from  a  slat- 
ternly woman,  awfully  black  in  the  face,  who  soon  thrust 
her  head  from  the  door-way. 


THE   KAILWAY    STATION.  233 

''  Is  Andy  Jones  har  ?"  asked  Miles. 

"  Yas,  massa,  he'm  turned  in  up  thar  on  de  table." 

We  followed  the  landlord  into  the  apartment.  It  "was 
the  dining-room  of  the  hotel,  and  by  the  dim  light  which 
came  from  a  smoky  fii-e  on  the  hearth,  I  saw  it  contained 
about  a  hundred  people,  who,  wrapped  in  blankets,  bed- 
quilts  and  travelling-shawls,  were  disposed  in  all  conceiv- 
able attitudes,  and  scattered  about  on  the  hard  floor 
and  tables,  sleeping  soundly.  The  room  was  a  long,  low 
apartment — extending  across  the  entii'e  front  of  the 
house — and  had  a  wretched,  squalid  look.  The  fire, 
which  was  tended  by  the  negro-woman — (she  had  spread 
a  blanket  on  the  floor,  and  was  keeping  a  di'owsy  watch 
over  it  for  the  night) — had  been  recently  replenished 
with  green  wood,  and  was  thi'owing  out  thick  volumes 
of  black  smoke,  vrhich,  mixing  with  the  effluvia  from  the 
lungs  of  a  hundred  sleepers,  made  up  an  atmosphere 
next  to  impossible  to  breathe.  Not  a  window  was  open, 
and  not  an  aperture  for  ventilation  could  be  seen  ! 

CarefoUy  avoiding  the  anns  and  legs  of  the  recum- 
bent chivahy,  we  picked  om*  way,  guided  by  the  negro- 
gkl,  to  the  corner  of  the  room  where  the  Unionist  vras 
sleeping.  Shaking  him  briskly  by  the  shoulder,  the 
Colonel  called  out :  "  Andy  !  Andy  !  wake  up  i" 

"•What — what  the  d ^lis  the  matter?"  stammered 

the  sleeper,  gradually  opening  his  eyes,  and  raising 
himself  on  one  elbow,  "  Lord  bless  you,  Gunnel,  is  that 
you  ?  what  in brought  you  har  ?" 


231-  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

"  Business,  Andy.  Come,  get  up,  I  want  to  see  you, 
and  I  can't  talk  here." 

The  Xorth  Carohnian  slowly  rose,  and  throwing  his 
blanket  over  his  shoulders,  followed  us  from  the  room. 
When  we  had  reached  the  open  air  the  Colonel  intro- 
duced me  to  his  friend,  who  expressed  surprise,  and  a 
great  deal  of  pleasure,  at  meeting  a  Northern  Union 
man  in  the  Colonel's  company. 

"Look  after  our  horses,  now.  Miles;  Andy  and  I  want 
to  talk,"  said  the  planter  to  the  landlord,  with  about  as 
little  ceremony  as  he  would  have  shown  to  a  negro. 

I  thought  the  white  man  did  not  exactly  relish  the 
Colonel's  manner,  but  saying,  "All  right,  all  right,  sir," 
he  took  himself  away. 

The  night  was  raw  and  cold,  but  as  all  the  rooms  of 
the  hotel  were  occupied,  either  by  sleepers  or  carousers, 
we  had  no  other  alternative  than  to  hold  our  conference 
in  the  open  air.  N^ear  the  railway-track  a  light-wood  fire 
was  blazing,  and,  obeying  the  promptings  of  the  frosty 
atmosphere,  we  made  our  way  to  it.  Lying  on  the 
ground  around  it,  divested  of  all  clothing  except  a  pair 
of  linsey  trousers  and  a  flannel  shirt,  and  with  their 
naked  feet  close- to  its  blaze — roasting  at  one  extremity, 
and  freezing  at  the  other — were  several  blacks,  the 
switch-tenders  and  woodmen  of  the  Station — fast  asleep. 
How  human  beings  could  sleep  in  such  cii'cumstances 
seemed  a  marvel,  but  further  observation  convinced  me 
that  the  Southern  negro  has  a  natural  aptitude  for  that 
exercise,  and  will,  indeed,  bear  more  exposure  than  any 


THE    KAIL  WAY    STATIOIJ'.  235 

other  living  tiling.  Nature  in  giving  him  such  powers 
of  endurance,  appears  to  have  specially  fitted  him  for  the 
Hfe  of  hardship  and  privation  to  which  he  is  born. 

The  fire-hght  enabled  me  to  scan  the  appearance  of 
my  new  acquaintance.  He  was  rather  above  the  medi- 
um height,  squarely  and  somewhat  stoutly  built,  and 
had  an  easy  and  self-possessed,  though  rough  and  unpol- 
ished manner.  His  face,  or  so  much  of  it  as  was  visible 
from  miderneath  a  thick  mass  of  reddish  gray  hair,  de- 
noted a  firm,  decided  character ;  but  there  was  a  manly, 
open,  honest  expression  about  it  that  gained  one's  confi- 
dence in  a  moment.  He  wore  a  slouched  hat  and  a  suit 
of  the  ordinary  " sheep's-grey,"  cut  in  the  "sack"  fash- 
ion, and  hanging  loosely  about  him.  He  seemed  a 
man  who  had  made  his  own  way  in  the  world,  and  I 
subsequently  learned  that  appearances  did  not  belie  him. 
The  son  of  a  "  poor  white"  man,  with  scarcely  the  first 
rudiments  of  book-education,  he  had,  by  sterling  worth, 
natural  ability,  and  great  force  of  character,  accumu- 
lated a  handsome  property,  and  acquired  a  leading 
position  in  his  district.  Though  on  "the  wrong  side 
of  politics,"  his  personal  popularity  was  so  great  that 
for  several  successive  years  he  had  been  elected  to  rep- 
resent the  county  in  the  state  legislature.  The  Colonel, 
though  opposed  to  him  in  pohtics — and  party  feeling  at 
the  South  runs  so  high  that  political  opponents  are  sel- 
dom personal  friends — had,  in  the  early  part  of  his 
career,  aided  him  by  his  endorsements  ;  and  Andy  had 
not  forgotten  the  service.     It  Vv^as  easy  to  see  that  while 


236  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

two  men  could  not  be  more  unlike  in  character  and  ap- 
pearance than  my  host  and  the  North  Carolinian,  they 
were  warm  and  intimate  friends. 

"  So,  Moye  has  been  raising  h — 11  gin'rally.  Colonel," 
said  my  new  acquaintance  after  a  time.  "  I'm  not  sur- 
prised. 1  never  did  b'Heve  in  Yankee  nigger-drivers — ■ 
sumhow  it's  agin  natur'  for  a  Northern  man  to  go  South- 
ern principles  quite  so  strong  as  Moye  did." 

"  Which  route  do  you  think  he  has  taken  ?"  asked 
the  Colonel. 

"  Wal,  I  reckon  arter  he  tuk  to  the  run,  he  made  fur 
the  mountings.  He  know'd  you'd  head  him  on  the 
travelled  routes;  so  he's  put,  I  think,  fur  the  Missussippe, 
where  he'll  sell  the  horse  and  make  North." 

"  I'll  follow  him,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  to  the  ends  of 
the  earth.  If  it  costs  me  five  thousand  dollars,  I'll  see 
him  hung." 

"  Wal,"  replied  Andy,  laughing,  "  if  he's  gone  North 
you'll  need  a  extradition  treaty  to  kotch  him.  South 
Car'lina,  I  b'heve,  has  set  up  fur  a  furrin  country." 

"  That's  true,"  said  the  Colonel,  also  laughing,  "  she's 
"furrin"  to  the  Yankees,  but  not  to  the  old  North 
State." 

"  D d  if  she  haint,"  replied  the  North  Carolinian, 

"  and  now  she's  got  out  on  our  company,  I  swear  she 
must  keep  out.  We'd  as  soon  think  of  goin'  to  h — U  in 
summer  time,  as  of  jining  partnership  with  her.     Cmi- 

nel,  you'r  the  only  decent  man  in  the  State — d d  if 

you   haint — and  your  politics  are  a'most  bad  'nuff  to 


THE   RAILWAY    STATION.  -  237 

spile  a  township.  It  allers  seemed  sort  o'queer  to  me, 
that  a  man  with  such  a  mighty  good  heart  as  your'n, 
could  be  so  short  in  the  way  of  brains." 

"Well,  you're  complimentary,"  replied  the  Colonel, 
with  the  utmost  good-nature,  "but  let's  drop  pohtics 
we  never  could  agree,  you  know.     "What  shall  I  dc 
about  Moye  ?" 

"  Go  to  Wilmington  and  telegraph  all  creation  :  wait 
a  day  to  har,  then  if  you  don't  har,  go  home,  hu-e  a  na- 
tive overseer,  and  let  Moye  go  to  the  d 1.     Ef  it'K 

do  you  any  good  I'll  go  to  Wilmington  with  yoU; 
though  I  did  mean  to  give  you  Secesherners  a  httle  h — 
har  to-morrer." 

"  ISTo,  Andy,  I'll  go  alone.     'Twouldn't  be  patriotic- 
to  take  you  away  from  the  barbacue.     Tou'd  '  spile 
if  you  couldn't  let  off  some  gas  soon." 

"I  do  b'lieve  I  shud.  Howsumdever,  thar's  nary  a 
thing  I  wouldn't  do  for  you — you  knows  that." 

"  Yes,  I  do,  and  I  wish  you'd  keep  an  eye  on  my 
Yankee  friend  here,  and  see  he  don't  get  into  trouble 
with  any  of  the  boys — there'll  be  a  hard  set  'round,  I 
reckon." 

"  Wal,  I  will,"  said  Andy,  "  but  all  he's  to  do  is  to 
keep  his  mouth  shet." 

"  That  seems  easy  enough,"  I  repHed,  laughing. 

A  desultory  conversation  followed  for  about  an  hour 
when  the  steam-whistle  sounded,  and  the  up-train  ar 
rived.  The  Colonel  got  on  board  and  bidding  us 
"good-night,"  went   on  to  Wilm.ington.     Andy  then 


238  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

proposed  we  should  look  up  sleeping  acconimodationp«. 
It  was  useless  to  seek  quarters  at  the  hotel,  but  an 
empty  car  was  on  the  turn-out,  and  bribing  one  of  the 
negroes  we  got  access  to  it,  and  were  soon  stretched  at 
full  length  on  two  of  its  hard-bottomed  seats. 


THE   BAHBACUE.  239 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE    BARBACUE 


The  camp-groiuid  was  about  a  mile  from  the  station, 
and  pleasantly  situated  in  a  grove,  near  a  stream  of 
water.  It  was  in  frequent  use  by  the  camp-meetings 
of  the  Methodist  denomination — which  sect  at  the  South 
is  partial  to  these  rural  reHgious  gatherings.  Scattered 
over  it,  with  an  effort  at  regularity,  were  about  forty 
small  but  neat  log  cottages,  thatched  with  the  long  leaves 
of  the  turpentine  pine,  and  chinked  with  branches  of  the 
same  tree.  Each  of  these  houses  was  floored  with  leaves 
or  straw,  and  large  enough  to  afford  sleeping  accommoda- 
tions for  about  ten  persons,  provided  they  spread  their 
bedding  on  the  ground,  and  lay  tolerably  close  together. 
Interspersed  among  the  cabins  were  about  a  dozen  can- 
vas tents  which  had  been  erected  for  this  especial  oc- 
casion. 

ISTearly  in  the  centre  of  the  group  of  huts  a  rude  sort 
of  scaffold,  four  or  five  feet  high,  and  surrounded  by  a 
rustic  railing,  served  for  the  speaker's  stand.  It  would 
seat  about  a  dozen  persons,  and  was  protected  by  a  roof 
of  pine-boughs,  interlaced  together  so  as  to  keep  off  the 
sun,  without  affording  protection  from  the  rain.  In  the 
rear  of  this  stand  were  two  long  tables,  made  of  rough 


240  AMONG   THE   PIITES. 

boards,  and  supported  on  stout  joists,  crossed  on  each 
other  in  the  form  of  the  letter  X.  A  canopy  of  green 
leaves  shaded  the  grounds,  and  the  whole  grove,  which 
was  perfectly  free  from  underbrush,  was  carpeted  with 
the  soft,  brown  tassels  of  the  pine. 

Being  fatigued  with  the  ride  of  the  previous  day,  I 
did  not  awake  till  the  morning  was  far  advanced,  and 
it  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  when  Andy  and  I  took  our  way 
to  the  camp-ground.  Avoiding  the  usual  route,  we 
walked  on  through  the  forest.  It  was  mid-winter,  and 
vegetation  lay  dead  all  around  us,  awaiting  the  time 
when  spring  should  breathe  into  it  the  breath  of  life, 
and  make  it  a  living  thin^.  There  was  silence  and  rest 
in  the  deep  woods.  The  birds  were  away  on  their  win- 
ter wanderings  ;  the  leaves  hung  motionless  on  the  tall 
trees,  and  nature  seemed  resting  from  her  ceaseless  labors, 
and  Usteninor  to  the  soft  music  of  the  Uttle  stream  which 
suns:  a  cheerful  sons:  as  it  rambled  on  over  the  roots  and 
fallen  branches  that  blocked  its  way.  Soon  a  distant 
murmur  arose,  and  we  had  not  proceeded  far  before  as 
many  sounds  as  were  heard  at  Babel  made  a  strange 
concert  about  our  ears.  The  lowing  of  the  ox,  the 
neighing  of  the  horse,  and  the  deep  braying  of  another 
animal,  mingled  with  a  thousand  human  voices,  came 
through  the  woods.  But  above  and  over  all  rose  the 
stentorian  tones  of  the  stump  speaker, 

"  As  he  trod  the  shaky  platform, 
"With  the  sweat  upon  his  brow." 

About  a  thousand  persons  were  already  assembled  on 


THE  BAKBACUE.  24:1 

the  ground,  and  a  more  motley  gathering  I  never  wit- 
nessed. All  sorts  of  costumes  and  all  classes  of  people 
were  there  ;  but  the  genuine  back-woods  corn-crackers 
composed  the  majority  of  the  assemblage.  As  might  be 
expected  much  the  larger  portion  of  the  audience  were 
men,  still  I  saw  some  women  and  not  a  few  children  •, 
many  of  the  country  people  having  taken  advantage  of 
the  occasion  to  give  their  families  a  holiday.  Some  oc- 
cupied benches  in  front  of  the  stand,  though  a. larger 
number  were  seated  around  in  groups,  within  hearing  of 
the  speaker,  but  paying  very  little  attention  to  what  he 
was  saying.  A  few  were  whittling — a  few  pitching 
quoits,  or  playing  leap-frog,  and  quite  a  number  were 
having  a  quiet  game  of  whist,  euchre  or  "  seven-up." 

The  speaker  was  a  well-di'essed,  gentlemanly-looking 
man  and  a  tolerably  good  orator.  He  seemed  accus- 
tomed to  addressing  a  jury,  for  he  displayed  all  the  adroit- 
ness in  handling  his  subject,  and  in  appeaJing  to  the 
prejudices  of  his  hearers,  that  we  see  in  successful  spe- 
cial pleaders.  But  he  overshot  his  mark.  To  nine  out  of 
ten  of  his  audience,  his  words  and  similes,  though  cor- 
rect, and  sometimes  beautiful,  were  as  uninteUigible  as 
the  dead  languages.  He  advocated  immediate,  uncondi- 
tional secession ;  and  I  thought  from  the  aj^plause  which 
met  his  remarks,  whenever  he  seemed  to  make  himself 
understood,  that  the  large  majority  of  those  present 
were  of  the  same  way  of  thinking. 

He  was  succeeded  by  a  heavy-browed,  middle-aged 
man,  slightly  bent,  and  with  hair  a  little  turned  to  gray, 
11 


242  AMONG   THE    PINES. 

but  still  hale,  athletic,  and  in  the  prime  and  vigor  of 
manhood.  His  pantaloons  and  waistcoat  were  of  the  com- 
mon homespun,  and  he  used,  now  and  then,  a  word  ot 
the  country  dialect,  but  as  a  stump-speaker  he  was  m- 
finitely  superior  to  the  more  pohshed  orator  who  had 
preceded  him. 

He,  too,  advocated  secession,  as  a  right  and  a  duty — 
separation,  now  and  forever,  from  the  dirt-eating,  money- 
loving  Yankees,  who,  he  was  ashamed  to  say,  had  the 
same  ancestry,  and  worshipped  the  same  God,  as  himself. 
He  took  the  bold  ground  that^  slavery  is  a  curse  to  both 
the  black  and  the  white,  but  that  it  was  forced  upon 
this  generation  before  its  birth,  by  these  same  greedy, 
grasping  Yankees,  who  would  sell  not  only  the  bones 
and  sinews  of  their  fellow  men,  but — worse  than  that — 
their  own  souls,  for  gold.  It  was  forced  upon  them 
without  their  consent,  and  now  that  it  had  become  inter- 
woven with  all  their  social-  life,  and  was  a  necessity  of 
their  very  existence,  the  hypocritical  Yankees  would 
take  it  from  them,  because,  forsooth,  it  is  a  sin  and  a 
wrong — as  if  thei/  had  to  bear  its  responsibihty,  or  the 
South  could  not  settle  its  own  affairs  with  its  jNIaker  ! 

"  Slavery  is  now,"  he  continued,  "  indispensable  to  us. 
Without  it,  cottop.,  rice,  and  sugar  will  cease  to  grow, 
and  the  South  will  starve.  What  if  it  works  abuses  ? 
WTiat  if  the  black,  at  times,  is  overburdened,  and  his 
wife  and  daughters  debauched  ?  Man  is  not  perfect 
anywhere — there  are  wrongs  in  every  society.  It  is  for 
each  one  to  give  his  account,  in  such  matters,  to  his  God. 


THE    BAKBACUE.  213 

But  in  tliis  are  we  worse  than  they?  Are  there  not 
abuses  in  society  at  the  North?  Are  not  their  laborers 
overworked  ?  While  sin  here  hides  itself  under  cover  of 
the  night,  does  it  not  there  stalk  abroad  at  noon-day  ? 
If  the  wives  and  daughters  of  blacks  are  debauched  here, 
are  not  the  wives  and  dauohters  of  whites  debauched 
there  ?  and  will  not  a  Yankee  barter  away  the  chastity 
of  his  own  mother  for  a  du'ty  dollar  ?  "Who  fill  our 
brothels?  Yankee  women!  "Who  load  our  peniten- 
tiaries, crowd  our  whipping-posts,  debauch  our  slaves, 
and  cheat  and  defraud  us  all  ?  Yankee  men !  And  I 
say  unto  you,  fellow-citizens,"  and  here  the  speaker's 
form  seemed  to  dilate  with  the  wild  enthusiasm  which 
possessed  him,  'come  out  from  among  them;  be  ye 
separate,  and  touch  not  the  unclean  thing,'  and  thus 
saith  the  Lord  God  of  Hosts,  who  will  guide  you,  and 
lead  you,  if  need  be,  to  battle  and  to  victory!" 

A  perfect  storm  of  applause  followed.  Tlie  assem- 
blage rose,  and  one  long,  wild  shout  rent  the  old  woods, 
and  made  the  tall  trees  tremble.  It  was  some  minutes 
before  the  uproar  subsided;  when  it  did,  a  voice  near 
the  speaker's  stand  called  out,  "Andy  Jones!"  The  call 
was  at  once  echoed  by  another  voice,  and  soon  a  general 
shoutfor  "Andy!"  "Union  Andy!"  "Bully  Andy!"  went 
up  from  the  same  crowd  which  a  moment  before  had  so 
wildly  applauded  the  secession  speaker. 

Andy  rose  from  where  he  was  seated  beside  me,  and 
quietly  ascended  the  steps  of  the  platform.  Removing 
his  hat,  and  passing  to  his  mouth  a  huge  quid  of  tobacco 


24:4  AMONG   THE    PINES. 

from  a  tin  box  in  his  pantaloons-pocket,  he  made  several 
rapid  strides  up  and  down  the  speaker's  stand,  and  then 
turned  squarely  to  the  audience. 

The  reader  has  noticed  a  tiger  pacing  up  and  down  in 
his  cao^e,  with  his  eves  riveted  on  the  human  faces  hefore 
him.  He  has  observed  how  he  will  single  out  some  indi- 
vidual, and  finally  stopping  short  in  his  rounds,  turn  on 
hun  with  a  look  of  such  intense  ferocity  as  makes  a  man's 
blood  stand  still,  and  his  very  breath  come  thick  and 
hard,  as  he  momentarily  expects  the  beast  will  tear  away 
the  bars  of  the  cage  and  leap  forth  on  the  obnoxious  per- 
son. ISTow,  Andy's  fine,  open,  manly  face  had  nothing 
of  the  tiger  in  it,  but,  for  a  moment,  I  could  not  divest 
myself  of  the  imj)ression,  as  he  halted  in  his  walk  up 
and  down  the  stage,  and  turned  full  and  square  on  the 
previous  speaker — who  had  taken  a  seat  among  the  audi- 
ence near  me — that  he  was  about  to  spring  upon  him. 
Riveting  his  eye  on  the  man's  face,  he  at  last  slowly  said : 

"A  man  stands  har  and  quotes  Scriptur  agin  his 
feller  man,  and  forgets  that  'God  made  of  one  blood  all 
nations  that  dwell  on  the  face  of  the  'arth.'  A  man 
stands  har  and  calls  his  brother  a  thief,  and  his  mother 
a  harlot,  and  axes  us  to  go  his  doctrin's !  I  don't 
mean  his  brother  in  the  Scriptur  sense,  nor  his  mother 
in  a  fig'rative  sense,  but  I  mean  the  brother  of  his  own 
blood,  and  the  mother  that  bore  him;  for  he,  gentlemen 
(and  he  pointed  his  finger  directly  at  the  recent  speaker, 
while  his  words  came  slow  and  heavy  with  intense  scorn), 
HE  is  a  Yankee !     And  now,  T  say,  gentlemen,  d — n  sech 


THE  BAEBACUE.  245 

doctrin's ;  d n  sech  principles,  and  d n  tlie  man 

that's  got  a  soul  so  black  as  to  utter  'em !" 

A  breathless  silence  fell  on  the  assemblage,  wliile  the 
person  alluded  to  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  face  on  fire,  and 
his  voice  thick  and  broken  with  intense  raore,  as  he 

yelled  out :  "  Andy  Jones,  by ,  you  shall  answer  for 

this !» 

"Sartin,"  said  Andy,  coolly  inserting  his  thumbs  in 
the  armholes  of  his  waistcoat ;  "  eny whar  you  hkes-— 
har — now — ef  'greeable  to  you." 

"  I've  no  weapon  here,  sir,  but  I'll  give  you  a  chance 
mighty  sudden,"  was  the  fierce  rej^ly. 

"  Suit  yourself,"  said  Andy,  with  i3erfect  miperturba- 
bihty;  "but  as  you  haint  jest  ready,  s'pose  you  set 
down,  and  har  me  tell  'bout  your  relations :  they're  a 
right  decent  set — them  as  I  knows — and  I'll  swar 
they're  'shamed  of  you." 

A.  buzz  went  through  the  crowd,  and  a  dozen  voices 
called  out :  "  Be  civil,  Andy"—"  Let  him  blow"—"  Shut 
up" — "  Go  in,  Jones" — with  other  hke  elegant  excla- 
mations. 

A  few  of  his  friends  took  the  a2'i>'rieved  ojentleman 
aside,  and,  soon  quieting  him,  restored  order. 

"  Wal,  gentlemen,"  resumed  Andy,  "  all  on  you  knov/ 
whar  I  was  raised — over  thar  in  South  Car'Kna.  I'm 
sorry  to  say  it,  but  it's  true.  And  you  all  know  m.y 
father  was  a  pore  man,  who  couldn't  give  his  boys  no 
chance — and  ef  he  could,  thar  warn't  no  schules  in  the 
district — so  we  couldn't  hev  got  no  book-larning  ef  we'd 


24:6  AMONG    TPIE    PINES. 

been  a  minded  to.     "Wal,  the  next  plantation  to  wliar 

we  lived  was  old  Cimnel  J 's,  the  father  of  this  cim- 

nel.     He  was  a  d d  old  nulufier,  jest  hke  his  son — 

but  not  half  so  decent  a  man.  Wal,  on  his  plantation 
was  an  old  nigger  called  Uncle  Pomp,  who'd  snmhow 
larned  to  read.  He  was  a  mighty  good  nigger,  and  he'd 
hev  been  in  heaven  lono;  afore  now  ef  the  Lord  hadn't  a 
had  sum  good  use  for  hun  down  bar — ^but  he'll  be  thar 

yet  a  d d  sight  sooner  than  sum  on  us  white  folks — 

that's  sartin.  Wal,  as  I  was  saying,  Pomp  could  read, 
and  when  I  was  'bout  sixteen,  and  had  never  seen  the 
inside  of  a  book,  the  old  darky  said  to  me  one  day — he 
was  old  then,  and  that  was  thirty  years  ago — wal,  he 
said  to  me,  'Andy,  chile,  ye  orter  larn  to  read,  'twill 
be  ob  use  to  ye  when  you'se  grow'd  up,  and  it  moight 
make  you  a  good  and  'spected  man — now,  come  to  ole 
Pomp's  cabin,  and  he'll  larn  you,  Andy,  chUe.'  Wal,  I 
reckon  I  went.  He'd  nothin'  but  a  Bible  and  Watts' 
Hymns ;  but  we  used  to  stay  thar  all  the  long  winter 
evenin's,  and  by  the  light  o'  the  fire — we  war  both  so 
durned  pore  we  couldn't  raise  a  candle  atween  us — wal, 
by  the  Hght  o'  the  fire  he  larned  me,  and  fore  long  I 
could  spell  right  smart. 

"  Now,  jest  think  on  that,  gentlemen.  I,  a  white 
boy,  and,  'cordin'  to  the  Declaration  of  Independence, 
with  jest  as  good  blood  in  me  as  the  old  Cimnel  had  in 
him,  bein'  larned  to  read  by  an  old  slave,  and  that  old 
slave  a'most  worked  to  death,  and  takm'  his  nights, 
when  he  orter  hev  been  a  restin'  his  old  bones,  to  larn 


THE  BAKBACUE.  24:7 

me !     I'm  d d  if  he  don't  get  to  heaven  for  that  one 

thing,  if  for  nothin'  else. 

"  Wal,  you  all  know  the  rest — how,  when  I'd  grow'd 
up,  I  settled  har,  in  the  old  North  State,  and  how  the 
young  Gunnel  backed  my  paper,  and  set  me  a  runnin'  at 
turpentining.  P'raps  you  don't  think  tliis  has  much  to 
do  with  the  Yankees,  but  it  has  a  durned  sight,  as  ye'll 
see  rather  sudden.  Wal,  arter  a  while,  when  I'd  got  a 
little  forehanded,  I  begun  shipping  my  truck  to  York 
and  Bostm';  and  at  last  my  Yankee  factor,  he  come  out 
har,  inter  the  back  woods,  to  see  me-,  and  says  he, 
*  Jones,  come  Xorth  and  take  a  look  at  us.'  I'd  sort  o' 
took  to  Mm.  I'd  lots  o'  deahn's  with  him  afore  ever 
I  seed  him,  and  I  allers  found  hun  straight  as  a  shingle. 
Wal,  I  went  North,  and  he  took  me  round,  and  showed 
me  how  the  Yankees  does  thmgs.  Afore  I  know'd  him, 
I  allers  thought — as  p'raps  most  on  you  do — that  the 
Yankees  war  a  sort  o'  cross  atween  the  devil  and  a  Jew; 
but  how  do  you  s'pose  I  found  'em  ?  I  found  that  they 
sent  the  pore  tnaii's  children  to  schule^  free — and  that 

the  schule-houses  war  a  d d  sight  thicker  than  the 

bugs  in  Miles  Privett's  beds !  and  that's  saym'  a  heap, 
for  ef  eny  on  you  kin  sleej)  in  his  house,  excep'  he  takes 

to  the  soft  side  of  the  floor,  I'm  d d.     Yas,  the  pore 

man's  childi-en  are  larned  thar,  feee  ! — all  on  'em — and 
they've  jest  so  good  a  chance  as  the  sons  of  the  rich 
man !  Now,  arter  that,  do  you  think  that  I — as  got  aU 
my  schulein,  from  an  old  slave,  by  the  light  of  a  bor- 
rored  pine-knot — der  you  think  that  J  kin  say  any  thing 


24:8  A^IOXa   THE   PINES. 

agin  the  Yankees?  P'r'aps  they  do  steal — though  I 
doant  know  it — p'r'aps  they  do  debauch  thar  wives  and 
darters,  and  sell  thar  mothers'  vartue  for  dollars — ^but, 

ef  they  do,  I'm  d d  if  they  doant  send  pore  children 

to  schule — and  that's  more'n  we  do — and  let  me  tell  you, 
until  we  do  thet,  we  must  expec'  they'll  be  cuter  and 
smarter  nor  we  are. 

"This  gentleman,  too,  my  friends,  who's  been  a  givin' 
sech  a  hard  settin'  down  ter  his  own  relation,  arter 
they've  broughten  him  up,  and  given  him  sech  a  schulein 
for  nuthin',  he  says  the  Yankees  want  to  interfere  with 
our  niggers.  Now,  thet  haint  so,  and  they  couldn't  ef 
they  would,  'case  it's  agin  the  Constertution.  And 
they  stand  on  the  Constertution  a  durned  sight  solider 
nor  we  do.  Didn't  thar  big  gun — Daniel  TVebster — 
didn't  he  make  mince-meat  of  South  Car'Iina  Hayne  on 
thet  ar'  subjec'  ?  But  I  tell  you  they  haint  a  mind  ter 
meddle  with  the  niggers ;  they're  a  goin'  to  let  us  go  ter 
h — ^1  our  own  way,  and  we're  goin'  thar  mighty  fast,  or 
I  haint  read  the  last  census." 

"  P'r'aps  you  haint  heerd  on  the  ab'lish'ners,  Andy?" 
cried  a  voice  from  among  the  audience. 

"  Wal,  I  reckon  I  hev,"  responded  the  orator.  "I've 
heerd  on  'em,  and  seed  'em,  too.  "When  I  was  Korth  I 
went  to  one  on  thar  conventions,  and  I'll  tell  you  how 
they  look.  They've  all  long,  wimmin's  har,  and  thin, 
shet  lips,  with  big,  bawlin'  mouths,  and  long,  lean, 
tommerhawk  faces,  as  white  as  vargin  dip — and  they  all 
talk  through  the  nose  (giving  a  specimen),  and  they 


THE   BAIiBACrE.  249 

all  look  for  all  tlie  world  jest  like  the  Soutli  Car'lina  fire- 
eaters — and  tliey  are  as  near  like  'em  as  two  peas,  excep' 
they  don't  swar  quite  so  bad,  hut  they  make  up  for 
thet  in  prayin' — and  prayin'  too  much,  I  reckon,  when  a 

man's  a  d d  hippercrit,  is  'bout  as  bad  as  swearin'. 

But,  I  tell  you,  the  decent  folks  up  N'orth  haint  ablish- 
cners.  They  look  on  'em  jest  as  we  do  on  mad  dogs, 
the  itch,  or  the  nigger  traders. 

"  Now,  'bout  this  secession  bis'ness — ^though  'taint  no 
use  to  talk  on  that  subjec',  'case  this  state  never'U  se- 
cede— South  Car'lma  has  done  it,  and  I'm  raather  glad 
she  has,  for  though  I  was  born  thar — and  say  it  as 
hadn't  orter  say  it — she  orter  hev  gone  to  h — 1  long  ago, 
and  now  she's  got  thar,  why — let  her  stay!  But,  'bout 
thet  bis'ness,  I'll  tell  you  a  story. 

"I  know'd  an  old  gentleman  once  by  the  name  of 
Uncle  Sam,  and  he'd  a  heap  of  sons.  They  war  all  hkely 
boys — but  strange  ter  tell,  though  they'd  all  the  same 
mother,  and  she  was  a  white  woman,  'bout  half  on  'em 
war  colored — not  black,  but  sorter  half-and-half.  Now, 
the  white  sons  war  well-behaved,  industrious,  hard- 
workin'  boys,  who  got  'long  well,  edicated  thar  chil- 
dren, and  allers  treated  the  old  man  decently ;  but  the 
mulatter  fellers  war  a  pesky  set — though  some  on  'em 
war  better  nor  others.  They  wouldn't  work,  but  set  up 
for  airystocracy — rode  in  kerriges,  kept  fast  horses,  bet 
high,  and  chawed  tobaccer  like  the  devil.  Wal,  the  re- 
sult was,  they  got  out  at  the  elbows,  and  'case  they 
warn't  gettin'  'long  quite  so  fast  as  the  white  'uns — 
11* 


250  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

though  that  war  all  thai*  own  fault — they  got  jealous, 
and  one  on  'em  who  was  blacker  nor  all  the  rest — a 
little  feller,  but  terrible  big  on  braggiu' — he  packed  up 
his  truck  one  night,  and  left  the  old  man's  house,  and 
swore  he'd  never  come  back.  He  tried  to  make  the 
other  mulatters  go  with  him,  but  they  put  thar  fingers 
to  tLar  nose,  and  says  they,  'IsTo  you  doant.'  I  was  in 
favor  of  lettin'  on  him  stay  out  in  the  cold,  but  the  old 
man  was  a  bernevolent  old  critter,  and  so  he  says:  'Now, 
sonny,  you  jest  come  back  and  behave  yourself,  and  I'll 
forgive  you  all  your  old  pranks,  and  treat  you  jest  as  I 
allers  used  ter ;  but,  ef  you  wont,  Vv^hy — I'll  make  you, 
thet's  all!' 

"Now,  gentlemen,  thet  quarrelsome,  oneasy,  ongrateful, 
tobaccer-chawin',  hoss-racin',  high-bettin',  big-braggin', 
nigger-stealin',  wimmin-whippin',  yaller  son  of  the  devil, 
is  South  Car'lina,  and  ef  she  doant  come  back  and  be- 
have herself  in  futur',  I'm  d d  ef  she  wont  be  ploughed 

with  fire,  and  sowed  with  salt,  and  Andy  Jones  will  help 
ter  do  it." 

The  speaker  was  frequently  interrupted  in  the  course 
of  his  remarks  by  uproarious  applause — ^but  as  he  closed 
and  descended  from  the  platform,  the  crowd  sent  up 
cheer  after  cheer,  and  a  dozen  strong  men,  making  a  seat 
of  their  arms,  lifted  him  from  the  ground  and  bore  him  off 
to  the  head  of  the  table,  where  dinner  was  in  waiting. 

The  whole  of  the  large  assemblage  then  fell  to  eating. 
The  dinner  was  made  up  of  the  barbacued  beef  and  the 
usual  .mixture  of  viands  found  on  a  planter's  table,  with 


THE   BAEBACUE.  251 

water  fi-om  the  little  brook  hard  by,  and  a  plentifiil 
supply  of  corn-whiskey.  (The  latter  beverage  had,  I 
thought,  been  subjected  to  the  rite  of  immersion,  for  it 
tasted  wonderfully  of  water.) 

Songs  and  speeches  were  intermingled  with  the  masti- 
cating exercises,  and  the  whole  company  was  soon  in 
the  best  of  humor. 

During  the  meal  I  was  introduced  by  Andy  to  a  large 
number  of  the  "  natives,"  he  taking  special  pains  to  tell 
each  one  that  I  was  a  Yankee,  and  a  Union  man,  but  al- 
ways adding,  as  if  to  conciliate  aU  parties,  that  I  also 
was  a  guest  and  a  friend  of  his  very  particular  friend, 
"  thet  d d  seceshener.  Gunnel  J ." 

Before  we  left  the  table,  the  secession  orator  happen- 
ing near  where  we  were  seated,  Andy  rose  from  his  seat, 
and,  extending  his  hand  to  him,  said :  "  Tom,  you  think 
I  'suited  you ;  p'r'aps  I  did,  but  you  'suited  my  Yankee 
friend  har,  and  your  own  relation,  and  I  hed  to  take  it 
up,  jest  for  the  looks  o'  the  thing.  Come,  there's  my 
hand ;  I'll  fight  you  ef  you  want  ter,  or  we'll  say  no  more 
'bout  it — jest  as  you  like." 

"  Say  no  more  about  it,  Andy,"  said  the  gentleman, 
very  cordially;  "let's  drink  and  be  friends." 

They  drank  a  glass  of  whiskey  together,  and  then 
leaving  the  table,  proceeded  to  where  the  ox  had  been 
barbacued,  to  show  me  how  cooking  on  a  large  scale  is 
done  at  the  South. 

In  a  pit  about  eight  feet  deep,  twenty  feet  long,  and 
ten  feet  wide,  laid  up  on  the  sides  with  stones,  a  fire  of 


252  AMONG  THE   P^ES. 

hickory  had  been  made,  over  -which,  after  the  wood  had 

"J 
burned  down  to  coals,  a  whole  ox,  divested  of  its  hide 

and  entrails,  Ijad  been  suspended  on  an  enormous  spit. 

Being  turned  often  in  the  process  of  cooking,  the  beef 

had  finally  been  "done  brown."     It  was  then  cut  up 

and  served  on  the  table,  and  I  must  say,  for  the  credit 

of  Southern  cookery,  that  it  made  as  delicious  eating  as 

any  meat  I  ever  tasted. 

I  had  then  been  away  from  my  charge — the  Colonel's 
horses — as  long  as  seemed  to  be  prudent.  I  said  as 
much  to  Andy,  when  he  proposed  to  return  with  me, 
and,  turning  good-humoredly  to  his  reconciled  friend,  he 
said :  "  IN'ow,  Tom,  no  secession  talk  while  I'm  off." 

"  Nary  a  word,"  said  "  Tom,"  and  we  left. 

The  horses  had  been  well  fed  by  the  negro  whom  I 
had  left  in  charge  of  them,  but  had  not  been  groomed. 
Seeing  that,  Andy  stripped  off  his  coat,  and  setting  the 
black  at  work  on  one,  with  a  handful  of  straw  and  pine 
leaves,  commenced  operations  on  the  other,  whose  hair 
was  soon  as  smooth  and  glossy  as  if  it  had  been  rubbed 
by  an  Enghsh  groom. 

The  remainder  of  the  day  passed  without  incident 
till  eleven  at  night,  when  the  Colonel  returned  from 
WUmington. 


THE   RETURN.  253 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE    RETURN. 


Mote  had  not  been  seen  or  heard  of,  and  the  Colonel's 
trijD  was  fruitless.  While  at  "Wilmington  he  sent  tele- 
grams, directing  the  overseer's  arrest,  to  the  various 
large  cities  of  the  South,  and  then  decided  to  return 
home,  make  arrangements  prelimuiary  to  a  protracted 
absence  from  the  plantation,  and  proceed  at  once  to 
Charleston,  wher6  he  would  await  replies  to  his  dis- 
patches. Andy  agreed  with  him  in  the  opinion  that 
Moye,  in  his  weak  state  of  health,  would  not  take  an 
overland  route  to  the  free  states,  but  would  endeavor 
to  reach  some  town  on  the  Mississippi,  where  he  might 
dispose  of  the  horse,  and  secure  a  passage  up  the  river. 

As  no  time  was  to  be  lost,  we  decided  to  return  to 
the  plantation  on  the  foUov/ing  morning.  Accordingly, 
with  the  first  streak  of  day  we  bade  "  good-bye"  to  our 
Union  friend,  and  started  homeward. 

No  incident  worthy  of  mention  occurred  on  the  way, 
till  about  ten  o'clock,  when  we  arrived  at  the  house  of 
the  Yankee  schoolmistress,  where  we  had  been  so  hos- 
pitably entertained  two  days  before.  The  lady  received 
us  with  great  cordiahty,  forced  upop  us  a  lunch  to  serve 
our  hunger  on  the  road,  and  when  we  parted,  enjoined 
on  me  to  leave  the  South  at  the  earliest  possible  mo- 


254  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

ment.  She  was  satisfied  it  would  not  for  a  mucli  longer 
time  be  safe  quarters  for  a  man  professing  Union  senti- 
ments. Notwithstanding  the  strong  manifestations  of 
loyalty  I  had  observed  among  the  people,  I  was  con- 
vinced the  advice  of  my  pretty  "  countrywoman"  was 
judicious,  and  I  determined  to  be  governed  by  it. 

Our  horses,  unaccustomed  to  lengthy  journeys,  had 
not  entirely  recovered  from  the  fatigues  of  their  previ- 
ous travel,  and  we  did  not  reach  our  destination  tiU  an 
hour  after  dark.     We  were  most  cordially  welcomed  by 

Madam  P ,  who  soon  set  before  us  a  hot  supper, 

which,  as  we  were  jaded  by  the  long  ride,  and  had  fast- 
ed for  twelve  hours,  on  bacon-sandwiches  and  cold  hoe- 
cake,  was  the  one  thing  needful  to  us. 

While  seated  at  the  table  the  Colonel  asked : 
"Has  every  tiling  gone  right,  Alice,  since  we  left 
home  ?" 

"  Every  thing,"  replied  the  lady,  "  except" — and  she 
hesitated,  as  if  she  dreaded  the  effect  of  the  news ;  "  ex- 
cept that  Julie  and  her  child  have  gone." 

"  Gone !"  exclaimed  my  host ;  "gone  where?" 
"  I  don't  know.  We  have  searched  everywhere,  but 
have  found  no  clue  to  them.  The  mornmg  you  left 
Sam  set  Jule  at  work  among  the  pines ;  she  tried  hard, 
but  could  not  do  a  full  task,  and  at  night  was  taken  to 
the  cabin  to  be  whipped.  I  heard  of  it,  and  forbade  it. 
It  did  not  seem  to  me  that  she  ought  to  be  punished  for 
not  doino;  what  she  had  not  streno-th  to  do.  When  re- 
leased  from  the  cabin,  she  came  and  thanked  me  for 


THE   EETTJEI^.  255 

having  interfered  for  her,  and  talked  with  me  awhile. 
She  cried  and  took  on  fearfully  about  Sam,  and  was 
afraid  you  would  punish  her  when  you  returned.  I 
promised  you  would  not,  and  she  left  me  seeming  more 
cheerful.  I  supposed  she  would  go  directly  home  after 
getting  her  child  from  the  nurse's  quarters ;  but  it  ap- 
pears she  went  to  Pompey's,  where  she  staid  till  after 
ten  o'clock.  Neither  she  nor  the  child  have  been  seen 
since." 

"  Did  you  get  no  trace  of  her  in  the  morning  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  soon  lost  it.  When  she  did  not  appear  at 
work,  Sam  went  to  her  cabin  to  learn  the  cause,  and 
found  the  door  open,  and  her  bed  undisturbed.  She  had 
not  slept  there.  Knowing  that  Sandy  had  returned,  I 
sent  for  him,  and,  with  Jim  and  his  dog,  he  commenced 
a  search.  The  dog  tracked  her  directly  from  Pompey's 
cabin  to  the  bank  of  the  run  near  the  lower  still.  There 
all  trace  of  her  disappeared.  "We  dragged  the  stream, 
but  discovered  nothing.  Jim  and  Sandy  then  scoured 
the  woods  for  miles  in  all  directions,  but  the  hound  could 
not  recover  the  trail.  I  hope  otherwise,  but  I  fear  some 
evil  has  befallen  her." 

*'  Oh,  no !  there's  no  fear  of  that,"  said  the  Colonel ; 
"  she  is  smart :  she  waded  up  the  run  far  enough  to  baf- 
fle the  dog,  and  then  made  for  the  swamp.  That  is 
why  you  lost  her  tracks  at  the  stream.  Rely  upon  it, 
I  am  right :  but  she  shall  not  escape  me." 

We  shortly  afterward  adjourned  to  the  library.  Af- 
ter being  seated  there  a  while  the  Colonel,  rising  quickly, 


256  AMONG    THE   PINES. 

as  if  a  sudden  tliouglit  had  struck  him,  sent  for  the  old 
preacher. 

The  old  negro  soon  appeared,  hat  in  hand,  and  taking 
a  stand  near  the  door,  made  a  respectfal  bow  to  each 
one  of  us. 

"  Take  a  chair,  Pompey,"  said  Madam  P ,  kindly. 

The  black  meekly  seated  himself,  when  the  Colonel 
asked :  "  Well,  Pomp,  what  do  you  know  about  Jule's 
going  off?" 

"  Nuffin',  massa — I  shures  you,  nuffin'.  De  pore  chile 
say  nuffin  to  ole  Pomp  'bout  dat." 

"What  did  she  say?-' 

"  Wal,  you  see,  massa,  de  night  arter  you  gwo  'way, 
and  arter  she'd  worked  hard  in  de  brush  aU  de  day,  and 
been  a  strung  up  in  de  ole  cabin  fur  to  be  whipped,  she 
come  ter  me  wid  har  baby  in  har  arms,  all  a-faint  and 
a-tired,  and  har  pore  heart  clean  broke,  and  she  say  dat 
she'm  jess  ready  ter  drop  down  and  die.  Den  I  tries  ter 
comfut  har,  massa ;  I  takes  har  up  from  de  floor,  and  I 
say  ter  har  dat  de  good  Lord  He  pity  har — dat  He  woant 
bruise  de  broken  reed,  and  woant  put  no  more  on  her 
dan  she  kin  b'ar — dat  He'd  touch  you'  heart,  and  I 
toled  har  you'se  a  good,  kiue  heart  at  de  bottom,  massa 
• — and  I  knows  it,  'case  I  toted  you  'fore  you  could  gwo, 
and  when  you's  a  bery  little  chile,  not  no  great  sight 
bigger'n  har'n,  you'd  put  your  httle  arms  roimd  ole 
Pomp's  neck,  and  say  dat  when  you  war  grow'd  up 
you'd  be  bery  kine  ter  de  pore  brack  folks,  and  not  leff 
'em  be  'bused  Uke  dey  war  in  dem  days." 


THE   EETTJEN.  257 


"  l^ever  miiicl  what  you  said,"  interrupted  the  Colonel, 
a  little  impatiently,  but  shovving  no  displeasure;  "what 
did  she  say  ?" 

"Wal,  massa,  she  tuk  on  bery  hard  'bout  Sam,  and 
axed  me  ef  I  raaily  reckoned  de  Lord  had  forgib'n  him, 
and  took'n  him  ter  Heself,  and  gibin'  him  one  o'  dem 
hous'n  up  dar,  in  de  sky.  I  toled  her  dat  I  hnoio'd  it ; 
but  she  say  it  didn't  'pear  so  ter  har,  'case  Sam  had  a 
been  wid  har  out  dar  in  de  woods,  all  fru  de  day ;  dat 
she'd  a  seed  him,  massa,  and  dough  he  handn't  a  said 
nuffin',  he'd  lukd  at  har  wid  sech  a  sorry,  grebed  luk, 
dat  it  gwo  clean  fru  har  heart,  till  she'd  no  strength  leff, 
and  fall  down  on  de  ground  a'most  dead.  Den  she  say 
bigr  Sam  come  'Ions:  and  fine  har  dar,  and  struck  har 
great,  heaby  blows  wid  de  big  whip !" 

"The  brute!"  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  rising  from  his 
chair,  and  pacing  rapidly  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  But  p'r'aps  he  warn't  so  much  ter  blame,  massa," 
continued  the  old  negro,  in  a  deprecatory  tone ;  "  may- 
be he  'spose  she  war  shirkin'  de  work.  Wai,  den  she  say 
she  know'd  nuffin'  more,  till  byme-by,  when  she  come 
to,  and  fine  big  Sam  dar,  and  he  struck  har  agin,  and 
make  har  gwo  ter  de  work ;  and  she  did  gwo,  but  she 
feel  hke  as  ef  she'd  die.'  I  toled  har  de  good  ma'am 
wudn't  leff  big  Sam  'buse  har  no  more  'fore  you  cum 
hmn,  and  dat  you'd  hab  'passion  on  har,  and  not  leff  har 
gwo  out  in  de  woods,  but  put  har  'mong  de  nusses,  like 


as  afore. 


"  Den  she  say  it  'twarn't  de  work  dat  trubble  har — 


258  A^IOXG   THE   PINES. 

dat  she  orter  work,  and  orter  be  'bused,  'case  she'd  been 
bad,  bery  bad.  All  she  axed  war  dat  Sam  would  forgib 
bar,  and  cum  to  bar  in  de  oder  worle,  and  tell  bar  so. 
Den  she  cried,  and  tuk  on  awful;  but  de  good  Lord, 
massa,  dat  am  so  beiy  kine  ter  de  bery  wuss  sinners,  He 
put  de  words  inter  my  mouf,  and  I  tink  dey  gib  bar 
comfut,  fur  she  say  dat  it  sort  o'  'peared  to  bar  den  dat 
Sam  icould  forgib  bar,  and  take  bar  inter  his  house  up 
dar,  and  she  warn't  afeard  ter  die  no  more. 

"Den  she  takes  up  de  chile  and  gwo  'way,  'pearin' 
sort  o'  happy,  and  more  cheerful  hke  dan  I'd  a  seed  bar 
eber  sense  pore  Sam  war  shot." 

My  host  was  sensibly  affected  by  the  old  man's  simple 
tale,  but  continued  pacing  up  and  down  the  room,  and 
said  nothing. 

"  It's  plain  to  me,  Colonel,"  I  remarked,  as  Pompey 
concluded,  "  she  has  drowned  herself  and  the  child — the 
dog  lost  the  scent  at  the  creek." 

"Oh,  no!"  he  replied;  "I  think  not.  I  never  heard 
of  a  negro  committing  suicide — they've  not  the  courage 
to  do  it." 

"  I  fear  she  has^  David,"  said  the  lady.  "  The  thought 
of  going  to  Sam  has  led  her  to  it ;  yet,  we  dragged  the 
run,  and  found  nothing.  What  do  you  think  about  it, 
Pompey  ?" 

"I  dunno,  ma'am,  but  I'se  afeard  of  dat;  and  now 
dat  I  tinks  ob  it,  I'se  afeard  dat  what  I  tole  bar  put  bar 
up  ter  it,"  replied  the  old  preacher,  bm*sting  into  tears. 
*'She  'peared  so  happy  like,  when  I  say  she'd  be  'long 


THE    EETUEN.  259 

wid  Sam  iii  de  odor  worle,  dat  I'se  afeard  she's  a  gone 
and  done  it  wid  bar  own  hands.  I  tole  har,  too,  dat  de 
Lord  would  oberlook  good  many  tings  dat  j^ore  sinners 
do  when  dey  can't  help  'emselfs — and  it  make  har  do  it ! 
Oh !  it  make  har  do  it !"  and  the  old  black  buried  his  face 
in  his  hands,  and  wept  bitterly. 

"  Don't  feel  so,  Pomp,"  said  his  master,  very  kindly. 
"  You  did  the  best  you  could ;  no  one  blames  you." 

"  I  knows  you  doant,  massa — I  knows  you  doant,  and 
you'se  bery  good  nottur — but  oh !  massa,  de  Lord!"  and 
his  body  swayed  to  and  fro  with  the  great  grief;  "I 
fears  de  Lord  do,  massa,  for  I'se  sent  har  ter  Him  wid 
har  own  blood,  and  de  blood  of  dat  pore  innercent  chile, 
on  har  hands.  Oh,  I  fears  de  Lord  neber'll  forgib  me — 
neber'U  foro-ib  me  for  dat^"^ 

"  He  will,  my  good  Pomp — He  will!"  said  the  Colonel, 
laying  his  hand  tenderly  on  the  old  man's  shoulder. 
"  The  Lord  w^iU  forgive  you,  for  the  sake  of  the  Chris- 
tian example  you've  set  your  master,  if  for  nothing  else;" 
and  here  the  proud,  strong  man's  feelings  overpowering 
bun,  his  tears  fell  in  great  drops  on  the  breast  of  the 
old  slave,  as  they  had  fallen  there  in  his  childhood. 

Such  scenes  are  not  for  the  eye  of  a  stranger,  and 
turning  away,  I  left  the  room. 


260  AMONG   THE   PINES. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


'ONE    MORE    UNFORTUNATE. 


The  family  met  at  the  "breakflist-table  at  the  usual 
hour  on  the  following  morning ;  but  I  noticed  that  Jim 
was  not  in  his  accustomed  place  behind  the  Colonel's 
chaii*.     That  gentleman  exhibited  his  usual  good  spirits, 

but  Madam  P looked  sad  and  anxious,  and  I  had 

not  forgotten  the  scene  of  the  pre^dous  evening. 

"Wliile  we  were  seated  at  the  meal,  the  negro  Junius 
hastily  entered  the  room,  and  in  an  excited  manner  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Oh,  massa,  massa,  you  muss  cum  ter  de  cabin — Jim 
hab  draw'd  his  knife,  and  he  swar  he'll  kill  de  fuss  'un 
dat  touch  him !" 

"  He  does,  does  he !"  said  his  master,  springing  from 
his  seat,  and  abruptly  leaving  the  apartment. 

Remembering  the  fierce  burst  of  passion  I  had  seen  in 
the  negro,  and  fearing  there  was  danger  a-foot,  I  rose  to 
follow,  saying,  as  I  did  so : 

"  Madam,  cannot  you  prevent  this  ?" 

"  I  cannot,  sir ;  I  have  already  done  all  I  can.  Go  and 
try  to  pacify  the  Colonel — Jim  will  die  before  he'll  be 
whipped." 


"  ONE   MOKE    Uis^rOKTUNATE."  5^61 

Jim  was  standing  at  the  farther  end  of  the  old  cabin^ 
with  his  back  to  the  wall,  and  the  large  spring  knife  in 
his  hand.  Some  half-dozen  negroes  were  in  the  centre 
of  the  room,  apparently  cowed  by  his  fierce  and  desper- 
ate looks,  and  his  master  was  within  a  few  feet  of  him. 

"  I  tell  you,  Gunnel,"  cried  the  negro,  as  I  entered, 
"you  touch  me  at  your  peril!" 

"You  d d  nigger,  do  you  dare  to  speak  so  to  me?" 

said  his  master,  taking  a  step  toward  him. 

The  knife  rose  in  the  air,  and  the  black,  in  a  cool, 
sneering  tone,  rephed:  "  Say  your  prayers  'fore  you  come 
nigher,  for,  so  help  me  God,  you'm  a  dead  man !" 

I  laid  my  hand  on  the  Golonel's  arm,  to  draw  him 
back,  saying,  as  I  did  so:  "There's  danger  in  him!  I 
hnoio  it.     Let  him  go,  and  he  shall  ask  your  pardon." 

"  I  shan't  ax  his  pardon,"  cried  the  black ;  "  leff  him 
an'  me  be,  sir ;  we'll  fix  dis  ourselfs." 

"  Don't  interfere,  IVIr.  K ,"  said  my  host,  with  per- 
fect coolness,  but  with  a  face  pallid  with  rage.  "  Let  me 
govern  my  own  plantation." 

"As  you  say,  sir,"  I  replied,  stepping  back  a  few 
paces  ;  "  but  I  warn  you — there  is  danger  in  him  !" 

Taking  no  notice  of  my  remark,  the  Golonel  turning 
to  the  trembling  negroes,  said :  "  One  of  you  go  to  the 
house  and  bruig  my  pistols." 

"You  kin  shoot  me,  ef  you  likes,"  said  Jim,  with  a 
fierce,  grim  smile  ;  "  but  I'll  take  you  ter  h — ^1  wid  me, 
shore.     You  knows  we  wont  stand  a  blow !" 

The   Colonel,  at  the  allusion   to   their  relationship, 


262  AilONG   THE   PINES. 

started  as  if  shot,  and  turning  furiously  on  the  negro, 

yelled  out :  "  I'll  shoot  you  for  that,  you  d d  nigger, 

by ." 

"  It  'pears  ter  me,  Gunnel,  yeVe  hed  'bout  nuff  shoot- 
in'  round  har,  lately ;  better  stop  thet  sort  o'  bis'ness ; 
it  moight  give  ye  a  sore  throat,"  said  the  long,  lean,  ' 
loose-jointed  stump-speaker  of  the  previous  Sunday,  as 
he  entered  the  cabin  and  strode  directly  up  to  my 
host. 

"  What  brought  you  here,  you  d d  insolent  hound?" 

cried  the  Colonel,  turning  fiercely  on  the  new-comer. 

"  Wal,  I  cum  ter  du  ye  a  naaboorly  turn — I've  kotched 
two  on  yer  niggers  down  ter  my  stiU,  and  I  want  ye 
ter  take  'em  'way,"  returned  the  corn-cracker,  with  the 
utmost  coohiess. 

"Two  of  my  niggers !"  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  per- 
ceptibly moderating  his  tone — "  which  ones  ?" 

"  A  yaller  gal,  and  a  chile." 

"I  thank  you,  Bai'ues;  excuse  my  hard  words — I  was 
excited." 

"All  right,  Cunnel;  say  no  more  'bout  thet.  WiU 
ye  send  fur  'em?  I'd  hev  fotched  'em  'long,  but  my 
waggin's  off  jest  now." 

"  Yes,  I'll  send  at  once.     Have  you  got  them  safe  ?" 

"  Safe  ?  I  reckon  so !  Kotched  'em  last  night,  arter 
dark,  and  they've  kept  right  still  ever  sense,  I  'sure  ye — 
but  th'  gal  holds  on  ter  th'  young  'un  ter  kill — we  cudn't 
get  it  'way  no  how." 

"  How  did  you  catch  them?" 


"  OXE   MOKE    UNFOKTHN-ATE."  263 

"  They  got  'gainst  my  turpentime  raft — the  curren' 
driv  'ein  down,  I  s'pose." 

"What!  are  they  dead?" 

"  Dead?  deader'n  drownded  rats !"  rephed  the  native, 

"  My  God !  drowned  herself  and  her  child !"  exclaim- 
ed the  Colonel,  with  deep  emotion. 

"  It  is  terrible,  my  friend.  Come,  let  us  go  to  them, 
at  once,"  I  said,  laying  my  hand  on  liis  arm,  and  draw- 
ing him  unresistingly  away 

A  pair  of  mules  vras  speedily  harnessed  to  a  large 
turpentine  wagon,  and  the  horses  we  had  ridden  the  day 
before  were  soon  at  the  door.  When  the  Colonel, 
who  had  been  closeted  for  a  few  minutes  Avith  Madam 

P ,  came  out  of  the  house,  we  moimted,  and  rode  off 

with  the  "  corn-cracker." 

The  native's  farm  was  located  on  the  stream  which 
watered  my  friend's  plantation,  and  was  about  ten  miles 
distant.  Takuig  a  by-road  which  led  to  it  through  the 
woods,  we  rode  rapidly  on  in  advance  of  the  wagon. 

"  Sort  o'  hkely  gal,  thet,  warn't  she  ?"  remarked  the 
turpentine-maker,  after  a  while. 

"Yes,  she  was,"  replied  the  Colonel,  in  a  half-ab- 
stracted manner ;  "  very  likely." 

"  Kill  harself  'case  har  man  war  shot  by  thet  han'som 
overseer  uv  your'n?" 

"  Not  altogether  for  that,  I  reckon,"  rephed  my  host ; 
"  I  fear  the  main  reason  was  her  being  put  at  field-work, 
and  abused  by  the  driver." 

"  Thet  comes  uv  not  lookin'  arter  things  yerself,  Cun- 


264:  A^IONG    THE   PliNES. 

nel.  I  tend  ter  my  niggers  parsonally,  and  they  keer  a 
durned  sigLt  more  fiir  this  world  then  fur  kingdom-cmn. 
Ye  cudn't  hire  'em  ter  kill  'emselves  fur  no  price."     ■ 

"Well,"  replied  the  Colonel,  in  a  low  tone,  "I  did 
look  after  her.     I  put  her  at  full  field-work,  myself!" 

"  By !"  cried  the  native,  reining  his  horse  to  a 

dead  stop,  and  speaking  in  an  excited  manner :  "  I  doant 

b'heve  it — 'taint 'tall  hke  ye — yer  a  d d  seceshener; 

thet  comes  uv  yer  bringin'-up — but  ye've  a  soul  bigger'n 
a  meetin' -house,  and  ye  cudn't  hev  put  thet  shm,  weak- 
ly gal  inter  th'  woods,  no  how !" 

The  Colonel  and  I  instinctively  halted  our  horses,  as 
the  "  corn-cracker"  stopped  his,  and  were  then  standing 
abreast  of  hun  in  the  road. 

"It's  true,  Barnes,"  said  my  host,  in  a  voice  that 
showed  deep  dejection ;  "  I  did  do  it !" 

"May  God  Almighty  furgive  ye,  Cunnel,"  said  the 
native,  starting  his  horse  forward ;  "Zwudn't  hev  dun 
it  fur  all  yer  niggers,  by ." 

The  Colonel  made  no  reply,  and  we  rode  on  the  rest 
of  the  way  in  silence. 

The  road  was  a  mere  wagon-track  through  the 
trees,  and  it  being  but  little  travelled,  and  encumbered 
with  the  roots  and  stumps  of  the  pine,  our  progress  was 
slow,  and  we  were  nearly  two  hours  in  reaching  the 
plantation  of  ilie  native. 

The  corn-cracker's  house — a  low,  unpainted  wooden 
building — stood  near  the  little  stream,  and  in  the  centre 
of  a  cleared  plot  of  some  ten  acres.     Tliis  plot  was  sur- 


"OXE   MOEE   UXFOETUXATE."  2G5 

rounded  by  a  post-and-rail  fence,  and  in  its  front  portion 
■was  a  garden,  ^vhich  grew  a  sufficient  supply  of  vege- 
tables to  serve  a  family  of  twenty  persons.  In  tlie  rear, 
and  at  the  sides  of  the  dwelling,  were  about  seven  acres, 
devoted  mainly  to  corn  and  potatoes.  In  one  corner  of 
the  lot  were  thi-ee  tidy-looking  negro-houses,  and  close 
beside  them  I  noticed  a  low  shed,  near  which  a  large 
quantity  of  the  stalks  of  the  tall,  white  corn,  common 
to  that  section,  was  stacked  in  the  !N  ew  England  fashion. 
Brovv'sing  on  the  corn-stalks  were  thi'ee  sleek,  well-kept 
milch  cows,  and  a  goat. 

About  four  hundi'ed  yards  from  the  farmer's  house, 
and  on  the  bank  of  the  little  run,  which  there  was 
quite  wide  and  deep,  stood  a  turpentine  distillery ;  and 
around  it  were  scattered  a  large  number  of  rosin  and 
turpentine  barrels,  some  filled  and  some  empty.  A  short 
distance  higher  up,  and  far  enough  from  the  "  still"  to  be 
safe  in  the  event  of  a  fire,  was  a  long,  low,  wooden  shed, 
covered  with  rough,  unjointed  boards,  placed  upright, 
and  unbattened.  This  was  the  "  spirit -house,"  used  for 
the  storage  of  the  spirits  of  tm-pentine  when  barrelled 
for  market,  and  awaiting  shipment.  In  the  creek,  and 
filling  nearly  one-half  of  the  channel  in  front '  of  the 
spii'it-shed,  was  a  raft  of  pine  timber,  on  which  were 
laden  some  two  hundi'ed  barrels  of  rosin.  On  such  rude 
conveyances  the  turj^entine-maker  sent  his  produce  to 
Conwayboro'.  There  the  timber-raft  was  sold  to  my  way- 
side friend,  Captain  B ,  and  its  freight  shipped  on 

board  vessel  for  Xew  York. 
12 


2Q6  AMONG    THE   PINES. 

Two  "pmne"  uegro  men,  dressed  in  tlio  usual  cos- 
tame,  were  "  tending  the  still ;"  and  a  negro  woman,  as 
stout  and  strong  as  the  men,  and  clad  in  a  short,  loose, 
linsey  gown,  from  beneath  which  peeped  out  a  paii*  of 
coarse  leggins,  was  adjusting  a  long  wooden  trough, 
which  conveyed  the  liquid  rosin  from  the  "still"  to  a 
deep  excavation  in  the  earth,  at  a  short  distance.  In 
the  pit  was  a  quantity  of  rosin  sufficient  to  fill  a  thousand 
barrels. 

"  Here,  Bill,"  said  Barnes  to  one  of  the  negro  men,  as 
we  pulled  up  at  the  distillery,  "put  these  critters  up, 
and  give  'em  sum  oats,  and  when  they've  cooled  ofi"  a 
bit,  water  'em." 

"  Yas,  yas,  massa,"  replied  the  negro,  springing  nim- 
bly forward,  and  taking  the  horses  by  the  bridles,  "  an' 
rub  'em  down,  massa  ?" 

"  Yas,  rub  'em  do^vn  right  smart,"  rephed  the  corn- 
cracker  ;  then  turning  to  me,  as  we  dismounted,  he  said: 
"Stranger,  thet's  th'  sort  o'  niggers  fur  ye;  all  uv  mine 
ar'  jess  hke  him — smart  and  lively  as  kittens." 

"He  does  seem  to  go  about  his  work  cheerfully,"  I 
replied. 

"  Cheerfully !    d d  ef  he  doant — all  on  'em  du  ! 

They  like  me  better'n  thar  o^vn  young  'uns,  an'  it's  'cause 
I  use  'em  like  human  bein's ;"  and  he  looked  slyly  to- 
ward the  Colonel,  who  just  then  was  walking  silently 
away,  in  the  direction  of  the  run,  as  if  in  search  of  the 
i^Towned  "  chattels." 

"  N'ot  thar,  Cunnel,"  cried  the  native  j  "  they're  inter 


"  OXE   MOEE   UXTOSTUXATE."  2G7 

th'  shed;"  and  lie  started  to  lead  the  way  to  the  " spu'it- 
house." 

"  Xot  now,  Barnes,"  I  said,  puttmg  my  hand  on  his 
arm :  "  leave  him  alone  for  a  little  while.  He  is  feelino- 
badly,  and  we'd  better  not  disturb  him  just  yet." 

The  native  motioned  me  to  a  seat  on  a  rosin-barrel, 
as  he  replied : 

"Wal,  he  'pears    ter — thet's   a   fact,    and  he    orter. 

D d  ef  it  arn't  wicked  to  use  ni^irofers  like  cattle,  as 

he  do." 

"  I  don't  think  he  means  to  ill-treat  them — he's  a  kind- 
hearted  man." 

"  Wal,  he  ar-  sort  o'  so ;  but  he's  left  ev'ry  thing  ter 

thet  d d  overseer  uv  his'n.     I  wudn't  ha'  trusted 

him  to  feed  my  hogs." 

"Hogs!"  I  exclaimed,  laughing;  "I  supposed  you 
didn't  feed  hogs  in  these  diggins.  I  supposed  you  '  let 
'em  run.'  " 

"J  doant ;  an'  I've  got  th'  tallest  porkys  round 
har." 

"  I've  been  told  that  they  get  a  good  hving  in  the 
woods." 

"  Wal,  p'r'aps  the'  du  jest  make  eout  ter  hve  thar;  but 
my  ole  'oman  likes  'em  ter  hum — they  clean  up  a  place 
like — eat  up  all  th'  leavin's,  an'  give  th'  young  nigs 
suthin'  ter  du." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  I  said,  resuming  the  previous  thread 
of  the  conversation ;  "  that  overseers  are  a  necessity 
on  a  large  plantation." 


268  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

"  Wal,  the'  ar',  an'  thet's  why  tliar  ortent  ter  be  no  big 
plantations ;  God  Almighty  didn't  make  human  bein's 
ter  be  herded  togethar  in  th'  woods  hke  hogs.  No  man 
orter  ter  hev  more'n  twenty  on  'em — he  can't  look  arter 
no  more  himself,  an'  its  agin  natur  ter  set  a  feller  over  'em 
what  hain't  no  int'rest  in  'em,  an'  no  feehn'  fur  'em,  an' 
who'll  drive  'em  round  like  brutes.  I  never  struck  one 
on  'em  in  my  life,  an'  my  ten  du  more'n  ony  fifteen  th' 
Gunnel's  got." 

"  I  thought  they  needed  occasional  correction.  How 
do  you  manage  them  without  whipping  ?" 

"Manage  them!  why  'cordin'  ter  scriptur — do  ter  'em 
as  I'd  like  ter  be  dim  ter,  ef  I  war  a  nigger.  Every  one 
on  'em  knows  I'd  part  with  my  last  shirt,  an'  live  on 
taters  an'  cow-fodder,  fore  I'd  sell  em ;  an'  then  I  give 
*em  Saturdays  for  'emselfs — but  thet's  cute  dealin'  in  me 
(tho'  th'  pore,  simple  souls  doant  see  it),  fur  ye  knows 
the'  work  thet  day  for  'emselfs,  an'  raise  nigh  all  thar 
own  feed,  'cept  th'  beef  and  whiskey — an'  it  sort  o' 
makes  'em  feel  hke  folks,  too,  more  hke  as  ef  the'  war 
free — the'  work  th'  better  fur  it  all  th'  week." 

"  Then  you  think  the  blacks  would  work  better  if 
free  ?" 

"  In  course  I  does — its  agin  man's  natur  to  be  a  slave. 
Thet  lousy  parson  ye  herd  ter  meetin,  a  Sunday,  makes 
slavery  eout  a  divine  institooshun,  but  my  wife's  a  Bible 

'oman,  and  she  says  'taint  so ;  an'  I'm  d d  ef  she  arn't 

right." 

"  Is  your  wife  a  South  Carohna  women  ?" 


''one  moee  uxfohtuxate."  2G9 

"  Xo,  she  an'  ine's  from  tli'  old  Xorth — old  Car'tret, 
nigh  on  ter  Xewbern;  an'  ^'e  doant  take  nat'rally  to 
these  iire-eaters." 

"  Have  you  been  here  long  ?" 

"Wal,  nigh  on  ter  six  yar.  I  cum  har  vrith  nuthin' 
but  a  thousan'  ter  my  back — slapped  thet  inter  fifteen 
hun'red  acres — paid  it  down — and  then  hired  ten  hkely, 
Xorth  Car'hna  ni2'2:ers — hired  'em  with  th'  chance  uv 
buyin'  ef  the'  liked  eout  har.  Wal,  th'  nigs  all  know'd 
me,  and  the'  sprung  ter  it  hke  blazes  ;  so  every  yar  I've 
managed  ter  buy  two  on  'em,  and  now  I've  ten  grow'd 
up,  and  thar  yoimg  'uns ;  th'  still  and  all  th'  traps  paid 

fur,  an'  ef  this  d d   secesh  bis'ness  hadn't  a  come 

'long,  I'd  hev  hed  a  right  smart  chance  o'  doin'  well." 

"  Tm  satisfied  secession  will  ruin  the  turpentine  busi- 
ness ;  you'll  be  shut  up  here,  unable  to  sell  your  produce, 
and  it  will  go  to  waste." 

"  Thet's  my  'pinion  ;  but  I  reckon  I  kin'  manage  now 
witheout  turpentime.  I've  talked  it  over  'long  with  my 
nigs,  and  we  kalkerlate,  ef  these  ar  doin's  go  eny  fur- 
der,  ter  tap  no  more  trees,  but  clar  land  an'  go  ter  raisin' 
craps." 

"  What !  do  you  talk  pohtics  with  your  negroes  ?" 

*'Xary  a  pohtic — ^but  I'm  d d  ef  th'  critters  doan't 

larn  'em  sumhow;  the'  knows  'bout  as  much  uv  what's 
goin'  on  as  I  du — but  plantin  arn't  pohtics ;  its  bisness, 
an'  they've  more  int'rest  in  it  nor  I  hev,  'cause  they've 
sixteen  mouths  ter  feed  agm  my  four." 

*'  I'm  glad,  my  friend,  that  you  treat  them  like  men  : 


270  AMONG    THE   PINES. 

but  I  have  supposed  tliej  were  not  well  enough  informed 
to  have  intelligent  opinions  on  such  subjects." 

"  Informed !  wal,  I  reckon  the'  is  ;  all  uv  mine  kin 
read,  an'  sum  on  'em  kin  vrrite,  too.  D'ye  see  thet 
httle  nig  thar  ?"  pointing  to  a  juvenile  coal-black  darky 
of  about  six  years,  who  was  standing  before  the  "still" 
fire ;  "  thet  ar  little  devil  kin  read  an'  speak  like  a  par- 
son. He's  got  hold,  sumhow,  uv  my  little  gal's  book 
o'  pieces,  an'  larned  a  dozen  on  'em.  I  make  him  cum 
inter  th'  house,  once  in  a  while  uv  an  evenin',  an 
speechify,  an'  'twould  do  yer  soul  good  ter  har  him,  in 
his  shirt  tail,  with  a  old  sheet  wound  round  him  fur 
a  toger  (I've  told  him  th'  play-acters  du  it  so  down  ter 
Charles'on),  an'  spoutin'  out :  'My  name  am  Norval ;  on 
de  Gruntin'  hills  my  fader  feed  hhn  hogs !'  The  little 
coon  never  seed  a  sheep,  an'  my  wife's  told  him  a  flock's 
a  herd,  an'  he  thinks  '  hog'  sounds  better'n  '  flock,'  so, 
contra'y  ter  th'  book,  he  puts  in  '  hogs,'  and  hogs,  you 
knows,  hev  ter  grimt,  so  he  gits  'em  on  th'  '  Gruntin 
hills  ;"  and  here  the  kmd-hearted  native  burst  into  a  fit 
of  uproarious  laughter,  in  which,  in  spite  of  myself,  I  had 
to  joia. 

When  the  merriment  had  somewhat  subsided,  the 
turpentine-maker  called  out  to  the  Httle  darky : 

"  Come  here,  Jun." 

The  young  chattel  ran  to  him  with  alacrity,  and 
wedging  in  between  his  legs,  placed  his  little  black  hands, 
in  a  free-and-easy  way,  on  his  master's  Imees,  and,  look- 
ing up  trustfully  in  his  face,  said : 


"one  more  ijnfoetunate."  271 

«  Wal,  massa  ?" 

*'  What's  yer  name  ?" 

''  Dandy  Jim,  massa." 

"Thet  arn't  all— what's  th'  rest?" 

*'  Dandy  Jim  of  ole  Car'lina." 

"  Who  made  ye  ?" 

"  De  good  God,  massa." 

"  Xo,  He  didn't :  God  doant  make  little  nigs.     He 
makes  none  but  white  folks ;"  said  the  master,  laughing. 

"  Yas  He'm  do  ;  Missus  say  He'm  do ;  dat  He  make 
dis  nig  jess  like  He  done  little  Totty." 

«  Wal,  He  did,  Jim.     I'm  d d  ef  Me  didn't,  fur 

nobody  else  cud  make  yeV  replied  the  man,  patting  the 
little  woolly  head  y/ith  undisguised  affection. 

"  ISTow,  Jim,  say  th'  creed  fur  '  de  gemmaii.'  " 

The  young  darky  then  repeated  the  Aj)ostle's  Creed 
and  the  Ten  Commandments. 

"  Is  thet  all  ye  knows  ?" 

"  No,  massa,  I  knows  a  heap  'sides  dat." 

**Wal,  say  suthin'  more — sum  on  'em  pieces  thet 
jingle." 

The  httle  fellow  then  repeated  with  entire  correctness, 
and  with  appropriate  gestures,  and  emphasis,  though  in 
the  genuine  darky  dialect — which  seems  to  be  inborn 
with  the  pure-Southern  black — Mrs.  Hemans'  poem : 

"  The  boy  stood  on  the  burning  deck." 

"Mrs. Hemans  draped  in  black!"  I  exclaimed,  laughing 
heartily ;   *'  How  would  the  good  lady  feel,  could  she  look 


272  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

down  from  where  she  is,  and  hear  a  little  darky  doing 
up  her  poetry  in  that  style  ?" 

"  D d  ef  I  doant  b'lieve  'twud  make  her  love  th' 

little  nig  like  I  do;"  replied  the  corn-cracker,  taking 
him  up  on  his  knee  as  tenderly  as  he  would  have  taken 
up  his  own  child. 

"  Tell  me,  my  little  man,"  I  said :  "  who  taught  you 
all  these  things  ?" 

"  I  larned  'em,  myseff,  sar,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

"You  learned  them,  yourself!  but  who  taught  you 
to  read  ?" 

"  I  larned  'em  myseff,  sar !" 

*'  You  couldn't  have  learned  that  yourself;  didn't  your 
'  massa'  teach  you  ?" 

"  No,  sar." 

"  Oh  !  your  '  missus'  did." 

"No,  sar." 

"  No,  sar !"  I  repeated ;  then  suspecting  the  real  state 
of  the  case,  I  looked  him  sternly  in  the  eye,  and  said : 
"  My  httle  man,  it's  wrong  to  tell  lies — you  must  ahoays 
speak  the  truth ;  now,  tell  me  truly,  did  not  your  '  mis- 
sus' teach  you  these  things  ?" 

"  No,  sar,  I  larned  'em  myseff." 

"  Ye  can't  cum  it,  Stranger ;  ye  moight  roast  him 
over  a  slow  fire,  an'  not  git  nary  a  thing  eout  on  him  but 
thet,"  said  the  corn-cracker,  leaning  forward,  and  break- 
ing into  a  boisterous  fit  of  laughter.      "It's  agin  th' 

law,  an'  I'm  d d  of  I  teached  him.     Reckon  he  did 

lara  himself!" 


"  ONE   MOKE   UXFOKTUNATE."  273 

"I  must  know  your  wife,  my  friend.     She's  a  good 


woman." 


"  Good !  ye  kin  bet  high  on  thet ;  she's  uv  th'  stufl' 
th'  Lord  makes  angels  eout  on." 

I  had  no  doubt  of  it,  and  was  about  to  say  so,  when 
the  Colonel's  turpentine  wagon  drove  up,  and  I  remem- 
bered I  had  left  him  too  long  alone. 

The  coachman  was  driving,  and  Jim  sat  on  the  wagon 
beside  him. 

"Massa  K ,"  said  the  latter,  getting  down  and 

coming  to  me :  "  Whar  am  dey  ?" 

"  In  the  spirit-shed." 

He  was  tm-ning  to  go  there,  when  I  called  him  back, 
saying:  "Jim,  you  must  not  see  your  master  now;  you'd 
better  keep  out  of  sight  for  the  present." 

"  No,  massa ;  de  ma'am  say  de  Gunnel  take  dis  bery 
hard,  and  dat  I  orter  tell  him  I'se  sorry  for  what  I'se 
done." 

"  Well,  wait  a  while.     Let  me  go  in  first." 

Accompanied  by  the  corn-cracker,  I  entered  the  tur- 
pentine-shed. A  row  of  spirit-barrels  were  ranged 
along  each  of  its  sides,  and  two  tiers  occupied  the  centre 
of  the  building.  Gn  these  a  number  of  loose  planks 
were  placed,  and  on  the  planks  lay  the  bodies  of  the 
metif  woman  and  her  child.  The  Golonel  was  seated  on 
a  barrel  near  them,  with  his  head  resting  on  his  hands, 
and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground.  He  did  not  seem  to 
notice  our  entrance,  and,  passing  him  without  speak- 
ing, I  stepped  to  the  side  of  the  dead. 
12* 


274:  AMONG    THE    PINES. 

The  woman's  dress,  the  conunon  linsey  gown  worn  "by 
her  class,  was  still  wet,  and  her  short,  kmky,  brown  hair 
fell  m  matted  folds  around  her  face.  One  arm  hnngr 
loosely  by  her  side ;  the  other  was  clasped  tightly  aronnd 
her  child,  which  lay  as  if  asleep  on  her  bosom.  One  ot 
its  small  hands  clung  to  its  mother's  breast,  and  around 
its  Uttle  hps  played  a  smile.  But  how  shall  I  describe 
the  pale,  sweet  beauty  of  the  face  of  the  drowned  girl,  as 
she  lay  there,  her  eyes  closed,  and  her  lips  parted,  as  in 
prayer  ?  l^ever  but  once  have  I  seen  on  human  features 
the  strange  radiance  that  shone  upon  it,  or  the  mmgled 
expression  of  hope,  and  peace,  and  resignation  that  rested 
there — and  that  was  in  the  long-gone  time,  when,  stand- 
ing by  her  bedside,  I  watched  the  passing  away  of  one 
who  is  now  an  ano;el  in  heaven ! 

"  Come,  my  dear  friend,  let  us  go,"  I  said,  turnmg 
and  gently  taking  the  Colonel  by  the  arm,  "  the  negroes 
are  here,  and  will  take  charge  of  the  dead." 

"  ISTo,  no !"  he  replied,  rising,  and  looking  around,  as 
if  aroused  from  a  troubled  dream ;  "  that  is  for  me  to 
do!"  Then  he  added,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "Will 
you  help  me  to  get  them  into  the  wagon  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  will,  certainly." 

He  made  one  step  toward  the  body  of  the  dead  girl, 
then  sinking  down  again  on  the  barrel,  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands,  and  cried  out:  "My  God!  this  is  terri- 
ble! Did  you  ever  see  such  a  look  as  that?  It  will 
haunt  me  forever !" 

"  Come,  my  friend,  rouse  yourself — this  is  weakness ; 


"one  more  unfortunate."  275 

you  are  tired  with  the  long  ride  and  excitement  of  the 
past  few  days.     Come,  go  home — I  will  look  after  them." 

"  Xo,  no !  I  must  do  it.  I  will  be  a  man  again ;"  and 
he  rose  and  walked  steadily  to  the  dead  bodies.  "  Is 
there  any  one  here  to  help  ?"  he  asked. 

Jim  was  standing  in  the  door-way,  and  I  motioned  to 
him  to  come  forward.  The  great  tears  were  streaming 
down  his  face  as  he  stepped  timidly  towards  his  master, 
and  said :  "  I'll  do  dis,  massa,  don't  you  trubble  yerself 
no  more." 

"  It's  good  of  you,  Jim.  You'U  forgive  me  for  being 
so  cruel  to  you,  wont  you  ?"  said  the  Colonel,  taking  the 
black  by  the  hand. 

"Forgib  ye,  massa!  Zwar  all  ter  blame — ^but  ye'll 
forgib  me,  massa — ye'll  forgib  me !"  cried  the  black,  with 
strong  emotion. 

"Yes,  yes;  but  say  no  more  about  it.  Come,  let  us 
get  Juhe  home." 

But  the  poor  girl  was  already  home — home  where  her 
sufferings  and  her  sorrows  were  over,  and  all  her  tears 
were  wiped  away  forever ! 

We  four  bore  away  the  mother  and  the  child.  A 
number  of  blankets  were  in  the  bottom  of  the  wagon, 
and  we  laid  the  bodies  carefully  upon  them.  When  all 
seemed  ready,  the  Colonel,  who  was  still  standing  by 
the  side  of  the  dead,  turned  to  my  new  friend,  and  said : 
"Barnes,  will  you  loan  me  a  pillow?  I  will  send  it 
back  to-night." 

"Sartin,  Cunnel;"  and  the  farmer  soon  brought  one 


276  AMONG   THE    PINES. 

from  the  house.  Lifting  tenderly  the  head  of  the 
drowned  girl,  the  Colonel  placed  it  beneath  her,  and 
smoothing  back  her  tangled  hair,  he  gently  covered  her 
face  with  his  handkerchief,  as  if  she  could  still  feel  his 
kindness,  or  longer  cared  for  the  pity  or  the  love  of 
mortal.  Yet,  who  knows  but  that  her  parted  soul,  from 
the  high  realm  to  which  it  had  soared,  may  not  then  have 
looked  down,  have  seen  that  act,  and  have  forgiven  him ! 


THE    SilALL    PLAXTEK.  277 


CHAPTER  XYH. 


THE    SMALL     PLANTER, 


In  the  first  moments  of  grief  the  sympathy  of  friends, 
and  the  words  of  consolation  bring  no  rehef.  How  much 
more  harshly  do  such  words  grate  on  the  ear  when  the 
soul  is  bowed  down  by  remorse  and  unavailing  regret ! 
Then  the  wounded  spirit  finds  peace  nowhere  but  with 
God. 

I  saw  that  the  Colonel  would  be  alone,  and  turning  to 
him,  as  he  prepared  to  follow  the  strange  vehicle,  which, 
with  its  load  of  death,  was  akeady  jolting  its  way  over 
the  rough  forest  road,  I  said, 

"  Will  you  pardon  me,  if  I  remain  with  your  fi-iend 
here  for  awhile  ?     I  will  be  at  the  mansion  before  dark." 

"Oh,  certainly,  my  friend,  come  when  you  feel  dis- 
posed," he  replied,  and  mounting  his  horse  he  was  soon  ■ 
out  of  sisrht  amonof  the  trees. 

"Now,  Barnes,"  I  said,  shaking  off  the  gloomy  feel- 
ings that  had  oppressed  me :  "  come,  I  must  see  that 
wife  of  yours,  and  get  a  glimpse  of  how  you  five  ?" 

"  Sartin,  stranger ;  come  in ;  I'll  give  ye  th'  tallest 
dinner  my  'oman  can  scare  up,  an'  she's  sum  pumkins 
in  th'  cookin'  line ;"  and  he  led  the  way  to  the  farm- 
house. 

As  I  turnad  to  follow,  I  shpped  a  half-dollar  into  the 


278  AMONG-  THE   PINES. 

hand  of  the  darky  who  was  holding  my  horse,  and  asked 
him  to  put  her  agam  mto  the  stahle. 

"  I'll  do  dat,  sar,  but  I  karn't  take  dis  ;  niassa  doant 
'low  it  nohow;"  he  replied,  tendering  me  back  the 
money. 

"  Barnes,  your  negroes  have  strange  ways;  I  never  met 
one  before  who'd  refuse  money." 

"  Wal,  stranger,  'taint  hosspetahty  to  take  money  on 
yer  friends,  and  Bill  gets  all  he  wants  from  me." 

I  took  the  silver  and  gave  it  to  the  first  darky  I  met, 
who  happened  to  be  an  old  centenarian  belonging  to 
the  Colonel.  As  I  tossed  it  to  him,  he  grinned  out:  "  Ah, 
massa,  I'U  git  sum  'backer  wid  dis ;  'pears  hke  I  hadn't 
nary  a  chaw  in  furty  yar."  With  more  than  one  leg  in 
the  grave  the  old  negro  had  not  lost  his  appetite  for  the 
weed — in  fact,  that  and  whiskey  are  the  only  "  luxuries" 
ever  known  to  the  plantation  black. 

As  we  went  nearer,  I  took  a  closer  survey  of  the 
farm-house.  It  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  low,  unpainted 
wooden  building,  located  in  the  middle  of  a  ten  acre  lot. 
It  was  approached  by  a'  straight  walk,  paved  vrith  a 
mixture  of  sand  and  tar,  similar  to  that  which  the 
reader  may  have  seen  in  the  Champs  Elysees.  I  do 
not  know  whether  my  back-woods  friend,  or  the  Parisian 
pavior,  was  the  first  inventor  of  this  composition,  but  I 
am  satisfied  the  corn-cracker  had  not  stolen  it  from  the 
stone-cracker.  The  walk  was  fined  with  fruit-bearing 
shrubs,  and  directly  in  front  of  the  house,  were  two 
small  flower-beds. 


THE    SMALL   PLiJNTES.  279 

The  dwelling  itself,  though  of  a  dingy  brown  wood- 
color,  was  neat  and  inviting.  It  may  have  been  forty 
feet  square  on  the  ground,  and  was  only  a  story  and 
a  half  high,  but  a  projecting  roof,  and  a  front  dormer- 
window,  reheved  it  from  the  appearance  of  dispropor- 
tion. Its  gable  ends  were  surmounted  by  two  enormous 
brick  chunneys,  carried  up  on  the  outside,  in  the  fashion 
of  the  South,  and  its  high,  broad  windows  were  orna- 
mented with  Venetian  blinds.  Its  front  door  oj)ened 
directly  into  the  "living-room,"  and  at  the  threshold 
we  met  its  mistress. 

As  the  image  of  that  lady  has  still  a  warm  place  in  a 
pleasant  corner  of  my  memory,  I  will  describe  her.  She 
was  about  thirty  years  of  age,  and  had  a  fresh,  cheerful 
face.  To  say  that  she  was  handsome,  would  not  be 
strictly  true ;  though  she  had  that  pleasant,  gentle,  kindly 
expression  that  sometimes  makes  even  a  homely  person 
seem  beautiful.  But  she  was  not  homely.  Her  features 
were  regular,  her  hair,  glossy  and  brown,  and  her  eyes, 
black  and  brilliant,  and,  for  their  color,  the  mildest  and 
softest  I  had  ever  seen.  Her  figure  was  tall,  and  in  its 
outline  somewhat  sharp  and  angular,  but  she  had  an 
ease  and  grace  about  her  that  made  one  forget  she  was 
not  moulded  as  softly  and  roundly  as  others.  She 
seemed  just  the  woman  on  whose  bosom  a  tired,  worn, 
over-burdened  man  might  lay  his  weary  head,  and  find 
rest  and  forgetfulness. 

She  wore  a  neat  calico  dress,  fitting  closely  to  the 
neck,  and  an  apron  of  spotless  white  muslin.     A  little 


2 so  AMOXG   THE   PINES. 

lace  cap  perched  cosily  on  tlie  back  of  her  head,  hidmg 
a  portion  of  her  wavy,  dark  haii',  and  on  her  feet — a 
mu-acle,  reader,  in  qne  of  her  class — were  stockings  and 
shoes!  Giving  me  her  hand — v/hich,  at  the  risk  of 
making  her  husband  jealous,  I  held  for  a  moment — she 
said,  making  a  gentle  courtesy  : 

"  Ye  ar  welcome,  stranger." 

"  I  sincerely  thank  you,  madam ;  I  am  a  stranger  in 
these  parts." 

She  tendered  me  a  chau*,  while  her  husband  opened  a 
sideboard,  and  brought  forth  a  box  of  Havanas,  and  a 
decanter  of  Scuppernong.  As  I  took  the  proffered  seat, 
he  offered  me  the  refreshments.  I  drank  the  lady's 
health  in  the  wine,  but  declined  the  cigars.  Seeing  this, 
she  remarked : 

"  Yer  from  th'  N^orth,  sir  ;  arn't  ye?" 

"Yes,  madam,  I  live  in  l!^ew  York,  but  I  was  born 
in  New-England." 

"I  reckoned  so;  I  knew  ye  didn't  belong  in  Car'- 
Ima." 

"  How  didj^ou  know  that,  madam?"  I  asked,  laughing. 

"  I  seed  ye  doan't  smoke  'fore  wimmin.  But  ye 
musn't  mind  me ;  I  sort  o'  likes  it ;  its  a  great  comfut  to 
Jolm,  and  may  be  it  ar  to  ye." 

"  Well,  I  do  relish  a  good  cigar,  but  I  never  smoko 
before  any  lady  except  my  wife,  and  though  she's  only 
'  a  httle  lower  than  the  angels,'  she  cZoes,  once  in  awhile, 
say  it's  a  shame  to  make  the  house  smeU  like  a  tobaccc 
factory." 


THE    SilALL    PLANTER.  281 

Barnes  handed  me  the  box  agam,  and  I  took  one.  As 
I  was  hghting  it,  he  said : 

"  Ye've  got  a  good  'oman,  hev  ye  ?" 

"  There's  none  better  ;  at  least,  I  think  so." 

"Wal,  I'm  'zactly  uv  thet  'pinion  'bout  mine:  I 
wouldn't  trade  her  fur  all  this  worle,  an'  th'  best  half 
uv  'tother." 

"  Don't  ye  talk  so,  John,"  said  the  lady ;  then  address- 
ing me,  she  added :  "  It's  a  good  husband  thet  makes  a 
good  wife,  sii"." 

"Sometimes,  madam,  but  not  always.  I've  known 
some  of  the  best  of  wives  who  had  miserable  husbands." 

"An'  I'm  d d  ef  I  made  my  wife  th'  'oman  she  ar'," 

said  the  corn-cracker. 

"Hush,  John;  ye  musn't  sw'ar  so;  ye  knows  how 
often  ye've  said  ye  wouldn't." 

"  Wal,  I  du,  an'  I  wont  agin,  by .     But  Sukey, 

whar's  th'  young  'uns  ?" 

"  Out  in  the  lot,  I  reckon ;  but  ye  musn't  holler'm  in — 
they'r  all  du't." 

"  Xo  matter  for  that,  madam,"  I  said ;  "  dirt  is  healthy 
for  httle  ones ;  rolling  in  the  mud  makes  them  grow." 

"  Then  our'n  orter  grow  right  smart,  fur  they'r  in  it 
allers." 

"  How  many  have  you,  madam  ?" 

"  Two ;  a  Httle  boy,  four,  and  a  Httle  gal,  six." 

"They're  of  interesting  ages." 

"  Yas,  the'  is  int'restin' ;  ev'ry  'uns  own  chil'ren  is 
smart ;  but  the'  does  know  a  heap.     John  was  off  ter 


282  AilONG    THE   PINES. 

Chaii'ston  no  great  while  back,  an'  the  little  boy  used 
ter  pray  ev'ry  mornin'  an'  ev'nin'  fur  his  fader  ter  cum 
hum.  I  larned  'em  thet  jest  so  soon  as  the'  talked,  'cause 
thar's  no  tellin'  how  quick  the'  moight  be  tooken  'way. 
Wal,  the  httle  feller  prayed  ev'ry  mornin'  an'  ev'nin' 
fur  his  fader  ter  cum  back;  an'  John  didn't  cum;  so 
finarly  he  got  sort  o'  provoked  with  th'  Lord ;  an'  he 
said.  God  war  aither  deaf,  an'  couldn't  har,  or  he  war 
naughty,  an'  wouldn't  tell  fader  thet  httle  Johnny  want- 
ed to  seed  'im  '  werry  mooch' " — and  here  the  good  lady 
laughed  pleasantly,  and  I  joined  in  most  heartily. 

Blessed  are  the  childi'en  that  have  such  a  mother. 

Soon  the  husband  returned  with  the  little  girl  and  boy, 
and  four  young  ebonies,  all  bare-headed,  and  dressed  ahke, 
in  thick  trousers,  and  a  loose  linsey  shirt.  Among  them 
was  my  new  acquaintance,  "  Dandy  Jim,  of  ole  Car'lina." 

The  httle  girl  came  to  me,  and  soon  I  had  two  white 
children  on  one  knee,  and  two  black  on  the  other,  and 
Dandy  Jim  between  my  legs,  playing  with  my  watch- 
chain.  The  family  made  no  distinction  between  the 
colors,  and  as  the  children  were  all  equally  clean  I  did 
not  see  why  I  should  do  so. 

The  lady  renewed  the  conversation  by  remarking: 
"  P'raps  ye  reckon  it's  quar,  su*,  that  we  'low  our'n  to 
'sociate  'long  with  th'  black  chil'ren ;  but  we  karn't  help 
it.  On  big  plantations  it  works  sorry  bad,  fur  th'  white 
young  'uns  larn  all  manner  of  evil  from  the  black  'uns ; 
but  I've  laboored  ter  teach  our'n  so  one  wont  do  no  hann 
ter  'tother." 


THE    S:MALL    r-LAKTEE.  283 

"I  suppose,  madam,  that  is  one  of  the  greatest  evils 
of  slavery.  The  low  black  poisons  the  mind  of  the  white 
child,  and  the  bad  influence  lasts  through  life." 

"  Yas,  it's  so,  stranger ;  an'  it's  the  biggest  keer  I  hev. 
It  often  'pears  strange  ter  me  thet  om*  grow'd  up  men 
arn't  no  wuss  then  the'  is." 

In  those  few  words  that  unlettered  woman  had  said, 
what  would — if  men  were  but  wise  enough  to  hear  and 
heed  the  great  truth  which  she  spoke — banish  slavery 
from  this  continent  forever ! 

After  awhile  the  farmer  told  the  juvenile  delineator  of 
!Mrs.  Hemans,  and  the  other  poets,  to  give  us  a  song ; 
and  planting  himself  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  the  httle 
darky  sang  "  Dixie,"  and  several  other  negro  songs, 
which  his  master  had  taught  him,  but  into  which  he 
had  introduced  some  amusing  variations  of  his  own. 
The  other  children  joined  in  the  choruses ;  and  then  Jim 
danced  breakdowns,  "  walk-along-Joes,"  and  other  darky 
dances,  his  master  accompanying  him  on  a  cracked  fid- 
dle, till  my  sides  were  sore  with  laughter,  and  the  hostess 
begged  them  to  stop.  Finally  the  clock  struck  twelve, 
and  the  farmer,  going  to  the  door,  gave  a  long,  loud  blast 
on  a  cow's  horn.  In  about  five  minutes  one  after  another 
of  the  field  hands  came  in,  till  the  whole  ten  had  seated 
themselves  on  the  verandah.  Each  carried  a  bowl,  a  tin- 
cup,  or  a  gourd,  into  which  my  host — who  soon  emerged 
from  a  back  room*  with  a  pail  of  whiskey  in  his  hand — 

*  The  whiskey  was  kept  in  a  back  room,  above  ground,  because  the  dwelling 
Had  no  cellar.     The  fluid  was  kej^t  safely,  uudi^r  lock  and  key,  and  the  farmer  ac- 


284  AMONG   THE    PINES, 

poured  a  gill  of  the  beverage.  This  was  the  day's  al- 
lowance, and  the  farnaer,  in  answer  to  a  question  of 
mine,  told  me  he  thought  negroes  were  healthier,  and 
worked  better  for  a  small  quantity  of  alcohol  daily, 
"The'  work  hard,  and  salt  feed  doant  set  'em  up  'nough,'' 
was  his  remark. 

Meanwhile  the  hostess  busied  herself  with  preparations 
for  dinner,  and  it  was  soon  spread  on  a  bright  cherry 
table,  covered  by  a  spotless  white  cloth.  The  little 
darkies  had  scattered  to  the  several  cabins,  and  we  soon 
sat  down  to  as  good  a  meal  as  I  ever  ate  at  the  South. 

We  were  waited  on  by  a  tidy  negro  woman,  neatly 
clad  in  a  calico  gown,  with  shoes  on  her  feet,  and  a  flam- 
ing red  and  yellow  'kerchief  on  her  head.  This  last  was 
worn  in  the  form  of  a  turban,  and  one  end  escaping  from 
behind,  and  hanging  down  her  back,  it  looked  for  all  the 
world  like  a  flag  hung  out  from  a  top  turret.  Observing 
it,  my  host  said : 

" Aggy — showin'  yer  colors  ?    Ye'r  Union  gal — hey?" 

"  Yas,  I  is  dat,  massa ;  Union  ter  de  back  bone ;"  re- 
sponded the  negress,  grinning  widely. 

"All  th'  Union  ye  knows  on,"  replied  the  master, 
winking  slyly  at  me,  "  is  th'  union  yer  goin'  ter  hitch  up 
'long  with  black  Cale  over  ter  Squire  Taylor's." 

"No,  'taint,  massa;  takes  more'n  tu  ter  make  de 
Union." 

counted  for  that,  by  saying  that  his  negroes  would  steal  nothing  but  whiskey. 
Few  country  houses  at  the  South  have  a  cellar — that  apartment  deemed  so  es- 
sential by  Northern  housekeepers.  The  intervening  space  between  the  ground 
and  the  floor  is  there  left  open,  to  allow  of  a  free  circulation  of  air. 


THE   SMALL    PLANTEK.  285 

"Yas,  I  kuoAYS — it  giii'rally  takes  ten  or  a  dozen: 
reckon  it'll  take  a  dozen  with  ye." 

"  John,  ye  musn't  talk  so  ter  th'  sarvents ;  it  spiles 
'em,"  said  his  wile. 

"  No  it  doant — do  it,  Aggy  ?" 

"  Lor',  missus,  I  doant  keer  what  massa  say ;  but  I 
doant  leff  no  oder  man  run  on  so  ter  me !" 

"  No  more'n  ye  doant,  gal !  only  Cale." 

"  Nor  him,  massa ;  I  makes  him  stan'  roun',  Zreckon." 

"  I  reckon  ye  du ;  ye  wudn't  be  yer  massa's  gal  ef  ye 
didn't." 

When  the  meal  was  over,  I  visited,  with  my  host,  the 
negro  houses.  The  hour  allowed  for  dinner*  was  about 
expiring,  and  the  darkies  were  preparing  to  return  to 
the  field.  Entering  one  of  the  cabins,  where  were  two 
stout  negro  men  and  a  woman,  my  host  said  to  them, 
with  a  perfectly  serious  face : 

"  Har,  boys,  I've  fotched  ye  a  hve  Yankee  ab'lishener; 
now,  luk  at  'im  all  roim'.    Did  ye  ever  see  sech  a  critter?" 

"  Doant  see  nufiin'  quar  in  dat  gemman,  massa,"  re- 
plied one  of  the  blacks.  "Him  'pears  like  bery  nice 
gemman ;  doant  'pear  hke  ab'lishener ;"  and  he  laughed, 
and  scraped  his  head  in  the  manner  pecuUar  to  the  negro, 
as  he  added:  "  kinder  reckon  he  wudn't  be  har  ef  he  war 
one  of  demr 

"  Wliat  der  ye  knows  'bout  th'  ab'lisheners  ?  Ye  never 
seed  one — what  d'ye  'spose  the'  luk  like  ?" 

*  No  regular  dinner-hour  is  allowed  the  blacks  on  most  turpentine  plantations. 
Their  food  is  usually  either  taken  with  them  to  the  woods,  or  carried  thera  by 
house  servants,  at  stated  times. 


286  AMOlS^a   THE   PINES. 

"  Dey  say  dey  luk  likes  de  bery  ole  debil,  massf.,  but 
reckon  taint  so." 

"  Wal,  the'  doant ;  the'  hik  wuss  then  thet :  they'm 
bottled  up  thunder  an'  hghtuin',  an'  ef  the'  cum  down 
bar,  they'll  chaw  ye  all  ter  hash." 

"  I  reckon  !"  replied  the  darky,  manipulating  his  wool, 
and  distending  his  face  into  a  decidedly  mcredulouG  grin. 

"  What  do  you  tell  them  such  things  for  ?"  I  asked, 
good-humoredly. 

"Lor,  bless  ye,  stranger,  the'  knows  th'  ab'Usheners 
ar  thar  friends,  jest  so  well  as  ye  du  ;  and  so  fur  as  thet 

goes,  d d  ef  the'  doan't  know  I'm  one  on  'em  myseff, 

fur  I  tells  'em,  ef  the'  want  to  put,  the'  kin  put,  an'  I'll 
throw  thar  trav'hn  'spences  inter  th'  bargin.  Doan't  I 
tell  ye  thet,  Lazarus." 

"  Yas,  massa,  but  none  ob  massa's  nigs  am  gwme  ter 
put — lesswise,  not  so  long  as  you  an'  de  good  missus, 
am  'bove  groun'." 

The  darky's  name  struck  me  as  peculiar,  and  I  asked 
him  where  he  got  it. 

'■'•'^TainH  my  name,  sar ;  but  you  see,  sar,  w'en  massa 

fuss  hire  me  ob  ole  Capt'in ,  up  dar  ter  Newbern- 

way,  I  war  sort  o'  sorry  like — hadn't  no  bery  good 
does — an'  massa,  he  den  caU  me  Lazarus,  'case  he  say  I 
war  all  ober  rags  and  holes,  an'  it  hab  sort  o'  stuck  ter 
me  eber  sense.  I  war  a'mighty  bad  off  'fore  dat,  but 
w'en  I  cum  down  har  I  gets  inter  Abr'am's  buzzimi,  I 
does ;"  and  here  the  darky  actually  reeled  on  his  seat 
with  laughter. 


THE    SMALL    PLANTEE.  287 

"  Is  this  woman  yoiir  wife  ?"  I  asked. 

"  IsTo,  sar;  my  wife  'longs  to  Gunnel  J—  — ;  dat  am  my 
new  wife — my  ole  wife  am  up  dar  wliar  I  cum  from !" 

"  "What !  have  you  two  wives  ?" 

"  Yas,  massa,  I'se  two." 

"  But  that's  contrary  to  Scripture." 

"  iN'o,  sar;  de  Cunnei  say  'tain't.  He  say  in  Scriptur' 
dey  hab  a  heap  ob'  'em,  and  dat  niggers  kin  hab  jess  so 
many  as  dey  likes— a  hun'red  ef  dey  want  ter." 

"Does  the  Colonel  teach  that  to  his  negroes?"  I 
asked,  turning  to  the  native. 

"  Yas,  I  reckon  he  do — an'  sits  'em  th'  'zample,  too," 
he  replied,  laughing ;  "  but  th'  old  sinner  knows  better'n 
thet ;  he  kin  read." 

"  Do  you  find  that  in  the  Bible,  Lazarus  ?" 

"  Yas,  massa ;  whar  I  reads  it.  Dat's  whar  it  tell 
*bout  David  and  Sol'mon  and  all  dem — dey  hab  a  heap 
ob  wives.  A  pore  ole  darky  karn't  hab  'nuffin  'sides 
dem,  an'  he  orter  be  'low'd  jess  so  many  as  he  hkes." 

Laughing  at  the  reasoning  of  the  negro,  I  asked : 

"How  would  you  hke  it,  if  your  wife  over  at  Colonel 
J 's,  had  as  many  husbands  as  she  liked  ?" 

"  Wal,  I  couldn't  fine  no  fault,  massa :  an'  I  s'pose 
she  do ;  dough  I  doan't  knows  it,  'case  I'se  dar  only 
Sunday-s." 

"  Have  you  any  children  ?" 

"  Yas,  sar ;  I'se  free  'longin'  ter  de  Cunnei,  an'  four 
or  five — I  doant  'zactly  know — up  ter  hum;  but  dey^se 
grow'd  up." 


288  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

"  Is  your  wife,  up  there,  married  again  ?" 

"Yas,  massa,  slie  got  anoder  man  jess  w'en  I  cum 
'way ;  har  ole  massa  make  har  do  it." 

We  then  left  the  cabin,  and  when  out  of  hearing  of 
the  blacks,  I  said  to  the  corn-cracker :  "  That  may  he 
Scripture  doctrine,  but  I  have  not  been  taught  so !" 

"  Scrip tur  or  no  Scriptur,  stranger,  it's  d d  hea- 
thenism," replied  the  farmer,  who,  take  him  all  in  all, 
is  a  superior  si3ecimen  of  the  class  of  small-planters 
at  the  South ;  and  yet,  seeing  polygamy  practised  by 
liis  own  slaves,  he  made  no  effort  to  prevent  it.  He 
told  me  that  if  he  should  object  to  his  darky  cohabiting 
with  the  Colonel's  negress,  it  would  be  regarded  as  un- 
neighborly,  and  secure  him  the  enmity  of  the  whole 
district !  And  still  we  are  told  that  slavery  is  a  Divine 
institution ! 

After  this,  we  strolled  off  into  the  woods,  where  the 
hands  were  at  work.  They  were  all  stout,  healthy 
and  happy-looking,  and  in  answer  to  my  comments  on 
their  appearance,  the  native  said  that  the  negroes  on  the 
tui'pentine  farms  are  always  stronger  and  longer-lived, 
than  those  on  the  rice  and  cotton-fields.  Unless  carried 
off  by  the  fevers  incident  to  the  climate,  they  generally 
reach  a  good  old  age,  while  the  rice-negro  seldom  lives 
to  be  over  forty,  and  the  cotton-slave  very  rarely  attains 
sixty.  Cotton-growing,  however,  my  host  thought,  is 
not,  in  itself,  much  more  unhealthy  than  turpentine- 
gathering,  though  cotton-hands  work  in  the  sun,  while 
the  turpentine  slaves   labor   altogether  in  the   shade. 


I 


THE    SilALL    TLA^^TEK.  289 

"  But,"  he  said,  "  the'  ^vork  'em  harder  nor  we  does,  an' 
doan't  feed  'em  so  well.  We  give  our'n  meat  and 
whiskey  ev'ry  day,  but  them  articles  is  skarse  'moiig 
th'  cotton  blacks,  an'  th'  rice  niggers  never  get  'em 
excep'  ter  Chi'is'mas  time,  an'  thet  cums  but  onst  a 
yar." 

"Do  you  think  the  white  could  labor  as  well  as  the 
black,  on  the  rice  and  cotton-fields  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Tas,  an'  better — ^better  onywhar ;   but,  in  coorse, 

'tain't  natur'  fur  black  nor  white  ter  stand  long  a  workin' 

in  th'  mud  and  water  up  ter  thar  knees ;  sech  work 

wud  kill  off  th'  very  devil  arter  a  while.     But  th'  white 

kin  stand  it  longer  nor  the  black,  and  its'  'cordin'  ter 

reason  that  he  shud ;  fur,  I  reckon,  stranger,  that  the 

sperit  and  pluck  uv  a  man  hev  a  durned  sight  ter  du 

with  work.     They'll  hole  a  man  up  when  he's  clean 

down,  an'  how  kin  we  expec'  thet  the  pore  nig',  who's 

nary  a  thing  ter  work  fur,  an'  who's  been  kept  under 

an'  'bused  ever  sense  Adam  was  a  young  im' — how  kin 

we  expec'  he'll  work  like  men  thet  own  'emselfs,  an' 

whose  faders  hev  been  free   ever  sense  creation  ?    1 

reckon  that  the  parient  has  a  heap  ter  du  with  makin' 

th'  chile.     He  puts  the  sperit  inter  'im :  doan't  we  see 

it  in  bosses  an'  critters  an'  sech  like  ?     It  mayn't  crap 

eout  ter  onst,  but  it's  shore  ter  in  th'  long  rim,  and 

thet's  th'  why  th'  black  hain't  no  smarter  nor  he  is. 

He's  been  a-ground  down  an'  kept  under  f\ir  so  long 

thet  it  '11  take  more'n  'un  gin' ration  ter  briug  him  up. 

'Tain't  his  fault  thet  he's  no  more  sperit,  an'   p'raps 
13 


290  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

'tain't  ourn — tliet  is,  them  on  us  as  uses  'em  right — but 
it  war  the  fault  uv  yer  fader  an'  mine — yer  fader  stole 
'em,  and  mine  bought  'em,  an'  the'  both  made  cattle  uv 
'em."' 

"  But  I  had  supposed  the  black  was  better  fitted  by 
nature  for  hard  labor,  in  a  hot  climate,  than  the  white  ?" 

"  Wal,  he  arn't,  an'  I  knows  it.     Th'  d -d  parsons 

an'  pol'tishuns  say  thet,  but  'tain't  so.  I  kin  do  half 
agki  more  work  in  a  day  then  th'  best  nig'  I've  got,  an' 
I've  duH  it,  tu,  time  an'  agin,  an'  it  didn't  hurt  me 
nether.  Ye  knows  ef  a  man  hev  a  wife  and  young  'uns 
'pendin'  on  him,  an'  arn't  much  'forehanded,  he'll  work 
like  th'  devil.  I've  dun  it,  and  ye  hev  ef  ye  war  ever 
put  ter  it ;  but  th'  nig's,  why  the'  hain't  got  no  wives 
and  young  'uns  ter  work  fur — the  law  doan't  'low  'em 
ter  hev  any — the'  hain't  nary  a  thing  but  thar  carcasses, 
an'  them's  thar  masters'." 

"You  say  a  man  works  better  for  being  free;  then 
you  must  think  'twould  be  well  to  free  the  negroes  ?" 

"  In  coorse,  I  does.  Jest  luk  at  them  nig's  o'  mine ; 
they're  ter  all  'tents  an'  purposes  free,  'case  I  use  'em 
like  men,  an'  the'  knows  the'  kin  go  whenever  the' 

d d  please.     See  how  the'  work — why,  one  on  'em 

does  half  as  much  agin  as  ony  hard-driv'  nigger  in 
creation." 

"  What  would  you  do  with  them,  if  they  were  really 
free  ?" 

"  Du  with  'em  ?  why,  hire  'em,  an'  make  twice  as 
much  eout  on  'em  as  I  does  now." 


THE   SMALL   PLAlfTEE.  291 

"  But  I  don't  tHnk  the  two  races  were  meant  to  live 
together." 

"  No  more'n  the'  warn't.  But  'tain't  thar  fault  thet 
they's  har.  We  hain't  no  right  ter  send  'em  off.  We 
orter  stand  by  our'n  an'  our  faders'  doin's.  The  nig' 
keers  more  fur  his  hum,  so  durned  pore  as  it  ar',  then 
ye  or  I  does  fur  our'n.  I'd  pack  sech  off  ter  Libraria 
or  th'  devH,  as  wanted  ter  go,  but  I'd  hev  no  'pulsion 
'bout  it." 

"Why,  my  good  friend,  you're  half-brother  to  Gar- 
rison.    You  don't  talk  to  your  neighbors  in  this  way?" 

"  Wal,  I  doan't ;"  he  replied,  laughing.  "  Ef  I  dim 
it,  they'd  treat  me  to  a  coat  uv  tar,  and  ride  me  out  uv 
th'  deestrict  raather  sudden,  I  reckon ;  but  yer  a  Nuth- 
ener,   an'  the'  all  take   nat'rally   ter   freedum,   excep' 

th'  d d  dough-faces,  an'  ye   aren't   one  on  'em,  I'll 

swar." 

"  Well,  I'm  not.  Do  many  of  your  neighbors  think 
as  you  do  ?" 

"  Reckon  not  many  round  har ;  but  up  in  Cart'ret, 
whar  I  cum  from,  heaps  on  'em  do,  though  the'  darn't 
say  so." 

By  this  time  we  had  reached  the  still,  and,  directing 
his  attention  to  the  enormous  quantity  of  rosin  that  had 
been  run  into  the  pit  which  I  have  spoken  of,  I  asked 
him  why  he  threw  so  much  valuable  material  away. 
^  "  Wal,  'tain't  wuth  nothin'  har.  Thet's  th'  common, 
an'  it  won't  bring  in  York,  now,  more'n  a  dollar  forty- 
five.    It  costs  a  dollar  an'  two  bits  ter  get  it  thar,  and 


292  AMONG  "THE   PINES. 

pay  fur  sellin'  on  it,  an'  th'  barr'l's  wuth  tli'  diff'rence 
I  doan't  sbij)  nuthin  wuss  nor  No.  2." 

"  What  is  No.  2  ?" 

He  took  the  head  from  one  of  the  barrels,  and  with 
an  adze  cut  out  a  small  piece,  then  handing  me  the  speci- 
men, replied : 

"  Now  hole  thet  up  ter  th'  sun.  Ye'll  see  though  its 
yaller,  it's  clean  and  clar.  Thet's  good  No.  2,  what  brings 
now  two  dollars  and  two  bits,  in  York,  an'  pays  me 
'bout  a  dollar  a  barr'l,  its  got  eout  o'  second  yar  dip,  an' 
as  it  comes  eout  uv  th'  still,  is  run  through  thet  ar  strainer,' 
pointing  to  a  coarse  wire  seive  that  lay  near.  "  Th' 
common  rosum,  thet  th'  still's  runnin'  on  now,  is  made 
eout  on  th'  yaller  dip — thet's  th'  kine  o'  turpentine  thet 
runs  from  th'  tree  arter  two  yars'  tappin' — we  call  it 
yallar  dip  ca'se  it's  allers  dark.  We  doant  strain  com- 
mon 't  all,  an'  it's  full  uv  chips  and  dirt.  It's  low  now,  but 
ef  it  shud  ever  git  up,  I'd  tap  thet  ar'  heap,  barr'l  it  up, 
run  a  little  fresh  stiUed  inter  it,  an'  'twould  be  a'most  so 
ffood  as  new." 

"  Then  it  is  injured  by  being  in  the  ground." 

"  Not  much ;  it's  jest  as  good  fur  ev'rything  but  mak- 
in'  ile,  puttin  it  in  the  'arth  sort  o'  takes  th'  sap  eout  on 
it,  an'  th'  sap's  th'  ile.  Natur'  sucks  thet  eout,  I  s'pose, 
ter  make  th'  trees  grow — I  expec'  my  bones  'iU  fodder 
'em  one  on  these  days." 

"  Rosin  is  put  to  very  many  uses  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  common's  used  mainly  for  ile  and  soap,  th' 
Yankees  put  it  inter  hard  yaller  soap,  'case  it  makes  it 


THE    SM^iJLL    PLANTER.  293 

weigh,  an'  yer  folks  is  up  ter  them  doiii's,"  and  he  looked 
at  me  and  gave  a  sly  laugh.  I  could  not  deny  the  "hard" 
impeaclmient,  and  said  nothing.  Taking  a  specimen  of 
very  clear  hght-colorod  rosin  from  a  shelf  in  the  still- 
house,  I  asked  him  what  that  quaUty  was  worth. 

"  Thet  ar  brought  seven  dollars,  for  tvf o  hundred  an' 
eighty  pounds,  in  York,  airly  this  yar.  It's  th'  very  best 
"No.  1  ;  an'  its  hard  ter  make,  'case  ef  th'  still  gets  over- 
het  it  turns  it  a  tinge.  Thet  sort  is  run  through  two 
sieves,  the  coarse  'un,  an'  thet  ar,"  pointing  to  another 
wire  strainer,  the  meshes  of  which  were  as  fine  as  those 
of  the  flour  sieve  used  by  housewives. 

"  Do  your  seven  field  hands  produce  enough  '  dip'  to 
keep  your  still  a  running  ?" 

"  No,  I  buys  th'  rest  uv  my  naboors  who  haint  no 
stills;  an'  th'  Gunnel's  down  on  me  'case  I  pay  'em 
more'n  he  will;  but  I  go  on  FrankUn's  princerpel:  'a 
nimble  sixpence's  better' n  a  slow  shiUin.'  A  great  ole 
feller  thet,  warn't  he  ?     I've  got  his  life." 

"  And  you  practice  on  his  precepts ;  that's  the  reason 
you've  got  on  so  well." 

"Yas,  thet,  an'  hard  knocks.  The  best  o'  doctrin's 
arn't  wuth  a  d n  ef  ye  doan't  work  on  'em." 

"  That  is  true." 

We  shortly  afterward  went  to  the  house,  and  there  I 
passed  several  hours  in  conversation  with  my  new  friend 
and  his  excellent  wife.  The  lady,  after  a  while,  showed 
me  over  the  building.  It  was  well-built,  well-arranged, 
and  had  many  conveniences  I  did  not  expect  to  find  in  a 


294  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

back-woods  dwelling.  She  told  me  its  timbers  and 
covering  were  of  well-seasoned  yellow  pine — wbicli  will 
last  for  centuries — and  that  it  was  built  by  a  Yankee  car- 
penter, whom  they  had  "  'ported"  from  Charleston,  pay- 
ing his  fare,  and  giving  him  his  living,  and  two  dollars 
and  a  half  a  day.  It  had  cost  as  near  as  she  "  cud  reckon, 
'bout  two  thousan'  dollars." 

It  was  five  o'clock,  when,  shaking  them  warmly  by  the 
hand,  I  bade  my  pleasant  friends  "  good-bye,"  and 
mounting  my  horse  rode  off  to  the  Colonel's. 


THE   BTJEIAL   OF    "  JULE."  295 


CHAPTER  XVm. 


THE    BURIAL    OF     "JTJLE," 


The  family  were  at  supper  when  I  returned  to  the 
mansion,  and,  entering  the  room,  I  tooli  my  accustomed 
place  at  the  table.  None  present  seemed  disposed  to 
conversation.  The  httle  that  was  said  was  spoken  in  a 
low,  subdued  tone,  and  no  allusion  was  made  to  the 
startling  event  of  the  day.  At  last  the  octoroon  woman 
asked  me  if  I  had  met  Mrs.  Barnes  at  the  farmer's. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  and  I  was  greatly  pleased  with  her. 
She  seems  one  of  those  rare  women  who  would  lend 
grace  to  even  the  lowest  station." 

"  She  is  a  rare  woman ;  a  true,  sincere  Christian. 
Every  one  loves  her  ;  but  few  know  all  her  worth  ;  only 
those  do  who  have  gone  to  her  in  sorrow  and  trial,  as — " 
and  her  voice  trembled,  and  her  eyes  moistened — "  as  I 
have." 

And  so  that  poor,  outcast,  despised,  dishonored 
woman,  scorned  and  cast-off  by  all  the  world,  had 
found  one  sympathizing,  pitying  friend.  Ti'uly,  "He 
tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb." 

When  the  meal  was  over,  all  but  Madam  P re 

tired  to  the  hbrary.     Tommy  and  I  fell  to  reading,  but 
the  Colonel  shortly  rose  and  continued  pacing  up  and 


296  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

down  the  apartment  till  the  clock  sounded  eight.     The 
lady  then  entered,  and  said  to  him. 

"The  negroes  are  ready,  David;  will  you  go,  Mr. 

K — -r 

" I  think  not,  madam,"  I  rephed ;  "at  least  not  now.'* 

I  continued  reading,  for  a  time,  when,  tiring  of  the 
book,  I  laid  it  down,  and  followed  them  to  the  little 
bui'ial-ground. 

The  grave  of  Sam  was  open,  and  the  plantation  blacks 
were  gathered  around  it.  In  the  centre  of  the  group, 
and  at  the  head  of  the  rude  coffin,  the  Colonel  was 
seated,  and  near  him  the  octoroon  woman  and  her  son. 
The  old  preacher  was  speaking. 

"  My  chil'ren,"  he  said :  "  she  hab  gone  ter  Ilim,  wid 
har  chile :  gone  up  dar,  whar  dey  doau't  sorrer  no  more, 
whar  dey  doan' t  weep  no  more,  whar  all  tears  am  wiped 
from  dar  eyes  foreber.  I  knows  she  lay  ban's  on  har- 
seff,  and  dat,  my  cliil'ren,  am  whot  none  ob  us  shud  do, 
'case  we'm  de  Lord's ;  He  put  us  har,  an'  he'll  take  us 
'way  when  we's  fru  wid  our  work,  not  afore.  We  hab 
no  right  ter  gwo  afore.  Pore  Juley  did — but  p'raps 
she  cudn't  help  it.  P'raps  de  great  sorrer  war  so  big  in 
har  heart,  dat  she  cudn't  fine  restnowhar  but  in  de  cole, 
dark  riber.  P'raps  she  warn't  ter  blame — p'raps,"  and 
here  his  eyes  filled :  "  p'raps  ole  Pomp  war  all  ter  blame, 
fur  I  tole  har,  my  clul'ren" — he  could  say  no  more,  and 
sinking  down  on  a  rude  seat,  he  covered  his  fiice,  and 
sobbed  audibly.  Even  the  Colonel' s  strong  fram  e  h  eaved 
with  emotion,  and  not  a  dry  eye  was  near.     After  a  time 


THE   BUKIAL    OF    "  JULE."  ■  297 

the  old  man  rose  again,  and  with  streaming  eyes,  and 
ujDturned  face,  continued : 

"Dars  One  up  dar,  my  chil'ren,  dat  say  :  'Come  unter 
Me,  all  ye  dat  am  a  weary  an'  a  heaby  laden,  an'  I  will  gib 
you  ress.'  He,  de  good  Lord,  He  say  dat ;  and  p'raps 
Juley  hard  Him  say  it,  an'  dat  make  har  gwo."  Agam 
liis  voice  failed,  and  he  sank  down,  weeping  and  moaning 
as  if  his  heart  would  break. 

A  pause  followed,  when  the  Colonel  rose,  and  aided 
by  Jim  and  two  other  blacks,  with  his  own  hands  nailed 
down  the  lid,  and  lowered  the  rude  coffin  into  the  ground. 
Then  the  earth  was  thrown  upon  it,  and  then  the  long, 
low  chant  which  the  negroes  raise  over  the  dead,  ming- 
ling now  with  sobs  and  moans,  and  breaking  into  a 
strange  wild  wail,  went  up  among  the  pines,  and  floating 
off  on  the  still  night  air,  echoed  through  the  dark 
woods,  till  it  sounded  like  music  from  the  grave.  I 
have  been  in  the  chamber  of  the  dying;  I  have  seen 
the  young  and  the  beautiful  laid  away  in  the  earth  ;  but 
I  never  felt  the  solemn  awfulness  of  death,  as  I  did, 
when,  in  the  stillness  and  darkness  of  night,  I  listened 
to  the  wild  grief  of  that  negro  group,  and  saw  the 
bodies  of  that  slave  mother  and  her  child,  lowered  to 
their  everlasting  rest  by  the  side  of  Sam. 
13* 


298  AMONG   THE   PINES. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


HOMEWARD. 


The  morning  broke  bright  and  mellow  with  the  rays 
of  the  winter  sun,  which  in  Carolina  lends  the  warmth 
of  October  to  the  chills  of  January,  when,  with  my  port- 
manteau strapped,  and  my  thin  overcoat  on  my  arm,  I 
gave  my  last  "God  bless  you"  to  the  octoroon  woman, 
and  turned  my  face  toward  home. 

Jim  shouted  "all  ready,"  the  driver  cracked  his  whip, 
and  we  were  on  our  way  to  Georgetown. 

The  recent  rains  had  hardened  the  roads,  the  bridges 
were  repaired,  and  we  were  whirled  rapidly  forward, 
and,  at  one  o'clock,  reached  Bucksville.  There  we  met 
a  cordial  welcome,  and  remained  to  dinner.  Our  host 
pressed  us  to  pass  the  night  at  his  house,  but  the  Colonel 
had  business  with  one  of  his  secession  friends  residins: 
down    the    road  —  my  wayside   acquaintance,   Colonel 

A ,  and  desired   to   stay  overnight  with  him.     At 

thi'ee  o'clock,  bidding  a  kindly  farewell  to  Captain  B 

and  his  excellent  family,  we  were  again  on  our  way. 

The  sun  was  just  sinking  among  the  western  pines, 
when  we  turned  into  a  broad  avenue,  lined  with  stately 
old  trees,  and   rode  up   to  the  door-way  of  the  rice- 


HOMEWAED.  299 

planter.  It  was  a  large,  square,  dingy  old  house,  seated 
on  a  gentle  knoll,  a  short  half-mile  from  the  river,  along 
whose  banks  stretched  the  rice-fields.  We  entered,  and 
were  soon  welcomed  by  its  proprietor. 

He  received  my  friend  warmly,  and  gave  me  a  courte- 
ous greeting,  remarking,  when  I  mentioned  that  I  was 
homeward  bound,  that  it  was  wise  to  go.  "  Things  are 
very  unsettled ;  there's  no  telling  what  a  day  may  bring 
forth ;  feeling  is  running  very  high,  and  a  Northern 
man,  whatever  his  principles,  is  not  safe  here.  By-the- 
way,"  he  added,  "did  you  not  meet  with  some  httle 
obstruction  at  Conwayboro',  on  your  way  up  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  did ;  a  person  there  ordered  me  back,  but 
when  things  began  to  look  serious,  Scipio,  the  negro 
whom  you  saw  with  me,  got  me  out  of  the  hobble." 

"  Didn't  he  tell  the  gentleman  that  you  were  a  par- 
ticular friend  of  mine,  and  had  met  me  by  appointment 
at  Captain  B 's  ?"  he  asked,  smiling. 

"  I  beheve  he  did,  sir ;  but  I  assure  you,  I  said 
nothing  of  the  kind,  and  I  think  the  black  should  not  be 
blamed,  under  the  circumstances." 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  don't  blame  him.  I  think  ho  did  a  smart 
thing.  He  might  have  said  you  were  my  grandmother, 
if  it  would  have  served  you,  for  that  low  fellow  is  as 
fractious  as  the  devil,  and  dead  sure  on  tho  trigger." 

"You  are  very  good,  sir,"  I  replied:  "how  did  you 
hear  of  it  ?" 

"A  day  or  two  afterward,  B passed  here  on  his 

way  to  Georgetown*    I  had  been  riding  out,  and  hap- 


300  AZMONG   THE   PINES. 

pened  to  be  at  the  liead  of  my  avenue  wlien  lie  was 
going  by.  He  stopped,  and  asked  if  I  knew  you.  Not 
knowing,  tben,  the  circumstances,  I  said  tliat  I  had  met 
you  casually  at  Bucksville,  but  had  no  particular  ac- 
quaintance with  you.  He  rode  on,  saying  nothing 
further.  The  next  morning,  I  had  occasion  to  go  to 
Georgetown,  and  at  Mr.  Eraser's  office,  accidentally 
heai'd  that  Scip — who  is  well-known  and  universally  hked 
there — was  to  have  a  pubhc  whipping  that  evening. 
Something  prompted  me  to  inquke  into  it,  and  I  was 

told  that  he  had  been  charged  by  B with  shie^  .ling 

a  well-known  abolitionist  at  Conwayboro' — a  man  who 
was  going  through  the  up-country,  distributing  such 
damnable  pubhcations  as  the  New  York  Independent 
and  Tribune.  I  knew,  of  course,  it  referred  to  you,  and 
that  it  wasn't  true.  I  went  to  Scip  and  got  the  facts, 
and  by  stretching  the  truth  a  little,  finally  got  him 
off.  There  was  a  shght  discrepancy  between  my  two 
accounts  of  you"  (and  here  he  laughed  heartily),  "and 

B ,  when  we  were  before  the  Justice,  remarked  on  it, 

and  came  d d  near  calling  me  a  liar.     It  was  lucky 

he  didn't,  for  if  he  had,  he'd  have  gone  to  h — 1  before 
the  place  was  hot  enough  for  him." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  my  dear  sir,  how  grateful  I  am  to 
you  for  this.  It  would  have  pained  me  more  than  I  can 
express,  if  Scip  had  suffered  for  doing  a  disinterested 
kindness  to  me." 

Early  in  the  morning  we  were  again  on  our  way,  and 
Swelve  o'clock  found  us  seated  at  a  dinner  of  bacon, 


HOMEWAED.  301 

corn-bread,  and  waffles,  in  the  "  first  hotel"  of  George- 
town. The  Charleston  boat  was  to  leave  at  three  o'clock; 
and,  as  soon  as  dinner  was  over,  I  saUied  out  to  find  Scip. 
After  a  half-hour's  search  I  found  hini  on  '*  Shackelford's 
wharf,"  engaged  in  loading  a  schooner  bound  for  Xew 
York  with  a  cargo  of  cotton  and  turpentine. 

He  was  dehghted  to  see  me,  and  when  I  had  told  him 
I  was  going  home,  and  might  never  see  him  again,  I  took 
his  hand  warmly  in  mine,  and  said  :  . 

"  Scip,  I  have  heard  of  the  disgrace  that  was  near 
being  put  upon  you  on  my  account,  and  I  feel  deeply 
the  disinterested  service  you  did  to  me ;  now,  I  can  not 
go  away  without  doing  something  for  you — shoeing  you 
in  some  way  that  I  appreciate  and  like  you."  . 

"  I  Hke's  you^  massa,"  he  replied,  the  tears  coming  to 
his  eyes :  "I  tuk  ter  you  de  bery  fuss  day  I  seed  you, 
'case,  I  s'pose,"  and  he  ^Tung  my  hand  tUl  it  ached : 
"  you  pitied  de  pore  brack  man.  But  you  karnt  do  nuf- 
£n  fur  me,  massa ;  I  doant  want  nuffin ;  I  doant  want 
ter  leab  har,  'case  de  Lord  dat  put  me  har,  arn't  willin' 
I  shud  gwo.  But  you  kin  do  suffin,  massa,  fur  de  pore 
brack  man, — an'  dat  'U  be  doin'  it  fur  me,  'case  my  heart 
am  all  in  dat.  You  kin  teU  dem  folks  up  dar,  whar  you 
lib,  massa,  dat  we'm  not  hke  de  brutes,  as  dey  tink  we  is. 
Dat  we's  got  souls,  an'  telUgenee,  an'  feelin's,  an'  am  men 
like  demselfs.  You  kiu  tell  'em,  too,  massa, — 'case 
you's  edication,  and  kin  talk — how  de  pore  wite  man 
'am  kep'  down  har ;  how  he'm  ragged,  an'  starvin',  an' 
ob  no  account,  'case  de  brack  man  am  a  slave.     How  der 


302  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

chil'ren  can't  get  no  scliulein',  how  eben  de  grow'd  up 
ones  doan't  know  nuffin — not  eben  so  much  as  de  pore 
brack  slave,  'case  de  'stockracy  wan't  dar  votes,  an  cudn't 
get  'em  ef  dey  'low'd  'em  larning.  Ef  your  folks  know'd 
all  de  truf h — ef  dey  know'd  how  both  de  brack  an'  de 
pore  w'ite  man,  am  on  de  groun',  and  can't  git  up,  ob 
demselfs — dey'd  do  suffin' — dey'd  break-  de  Constertu- 
tion — dey'd  do  suffin^  ter  help  us.  I  doant  want  no 
one  hurted,  I  doant  want  no  one  wronged;  but  jess 
tink  ob  it,  massa,  four  million  ob  bracks,  and  nigh  so 
many  pore  wites,  wid  de  bressed  gospil  shinin'  down  on 
'em,  an'  dey  not  knowin'  on  it.  All  dem — ebry  one  of 
'em — made  in  de  image  ob  de  great  God,  an'  dey  driven 
roun',  an'  'bused  wuss  dan  de  brutes.  Ton's  seed  dis, 
massa,  wid  your  own  eyes,  an'  you  kin  tell  'em  on  it ; 
an'  you  will  tell  'em  on  it,  massa ;"  and  again  he  took 
my  hand  while  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks ;  "  an' 
Scip  will  bress  you  fur  it,  massa;  wid  his  bery  lass  breaf 
he'll  bress  you ;  an'  de  good  Lord  will  bress  you,  too, 
massa ;  He  will  foreber  bress  you,  fur  He'm  on  de  side 
ob  de  pore,  an'  de  'flicted :  His  own  book  say  dat,  an'  it 
am  true,  I  knows  it,  fur  I  feels  it  Aary"  and  he  laid  his 
hand  on  his  heart,  and  was  silent. 

I  could  not  speak  for  a  moment.  When  I  mastered 
my  feelings,  I  said,  "I  will  do  it  Scip  ;  as  God  gives  mo 
strength,  I  wilV^  - 

Reader,  I  am  keeping  my  word. 


coxcLusiox.  303 


CHAPTER  XX. 


CONCLUSION. 


Thls  is  not  a  work  of  fiction.  It  is  a  record  of  facts, 
and  therefore  the  reader  will  not  expect  me  to  dispose 
of  its  various  characters  on  artistic  principles — that  is, 
lay  them  away  in  one  of  those  final  receptacles  for  the 
creations  of  the  romancer — the  grave  and  matrimony. 
Death  has  been  among  them,  but  nearly  all  are  yet  do- 
ing their  work  in  this  breathing,  busy  world. 

The  characters  I  have  introduced  are  real.  They  are 
not  drawn  with  the  pencil  of  fancy,  nor,  I  trust,  colored 
with  the  tints  of  prejudice.  The  scenes  I  have  described 
are  true.  I  have  taken  some  liberties  with  the  names  of 
persons  and  places,  and,  in  a  few  instances,  altered  dates ; 
"but  the  events  themselves  occurred  under  my  own  obser- 
vation. No  c  ne  acquainted  with  the  section  of  country 
I  have  described,  or  familiar  with  the  characters  I  have 
delineated,  will  question  this  statement.  Lest  some  one 
who  has  not  seen  the  slave  and  the  poor  white  man  of 
the  South,  as  he  actually  is,  should  deem  my  picture 
overdrawn,  I  will  say  that  "  the  half  has  not  been  told !" 
If  the  whole  were  related — if  the  Southern  system,  in 
all  its  naked  ugliness,  were  fiilly  exposed — the  truth 


304  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

would  read  like  fiction,  and  tlie  baldest  relation  of  fact 
like  the  wildest  dream  of  romance. 

«*8»  *t*  *1>  9^  «(•  •!• 

^^  •»•  "J*  »^  *^  ^^ 

The  overseer  was  never  taken.  A  letter  which  I  re- 
ceived from  Colonel  J ■,  shortly  prior  to  the  stop- 
page of  the  mails,  informed  me  that  Moye  had  succeeded 
in  crossing  the  moimtains  mto  Tennessee,  where,  in  an  in- 
terior town,  he  disposed  of  the  horse,  and  then  made  his 
way  by  an  inland  route  to  the  free  states.  The  horse 
the  Colonel  had  recovered,  but  the  overseer  he  never 
expected  to  see.  Moye  is  now,  no  doubt,  somewhere  in 
the  ISTorth,  and  is  probably  at  this  present  wi'iting  a 
zealous  Union  man,  of  somewhat  the  same  "  stripe"  as 
the  conductors  of  the  'NewYor]^  Herald  and  the  Boston 
Courier. 

I  have  not  heard  directly  from  Scipio,  but  one  day 
last  July,  after  a  long  search,  I  found  on  one  of  the 
wharves  of'  South  Street,  a  coasting  captain,  who  knew 
him  well,  and  who  had  seen  him  the  month  previous  at 
Georgetown.  He  was  at  that  time  pursuing  his  usual 
avocations,  and  was  as  much  respected  and  trusted,  as 
when  I  met  him. 

A  few  days  after  the  tidings  of  the  fall  of  Sumter 
were  received  in  Kew  York,  and  when  I  had  witnessed 
the  spontaneous  and  universal  uprising  of  the  North, 
which  followed  that  event,  I  dispatched  letters  to  several 
of  my  Southern  friends,  giving  them  as  near  as  I  could 
an  account  of  the  true  state  of  feeling  here,  and  repre- 
senting the  utter  madness  of  the  course  the  South  was 


CONCLUSION.  305 

pursuing.  One  of  these  letters  vrent  to  my  Union  ac- 
quaintance wiiom  I  have  called,  in  the  preceding  pages, 
"  Andy  Jones." 

He  promptly  replied,  and  a  pretty  regular  correspond- 
ence ensued  between  us,  which  has  continued,  at  inter- 
vals, even  since  the  suspension  of  intercourse  between 
the  North  and  the  South. 

Andy  has  stood  firmly  and  nobly  by  the  old  flag.  At 
the  risk  of  every  thing,  he  has  boldly  expressed  his  sen- 
timents everywhere.  With  his  life  in  his  hand,  and — a 
revolver  in  each  of  his  breeches-pockets,  he  walked  the 
streets  of  Wilmington  when  the  secession  fever  was  at 
its  height,  openly  proclaiming  his  undying  loyalty  to 
the  Union,  and  "no  man  dared  gainsay  him." 

But  with  all  his  patriotism,  Andy  keeps  a  bright  eye 
on  the  "  main  chance."  Like  his  brother,  the  Northern 
Yankee,  whom  he  somewhat  resembles  and  greatly  ad- 
irnres,  he  never  omits  an  opportunity  of  "  turning  an 
honest  penny."  In  defiance  of  custom-house  regulations, 
and  of  our  strict  blockade,  he  has  carried  on  a  more  or 
less  regular  traffic  with  New  York  and  Boston  {via 
Halifax  and  other  neutral  ports),  ever  since  North  Caro- 
lina seceded.  His  turpentine — while  it  was  still  his 
property — has  been  sold  in  the  New  York  market, 
under  the  very  eyes  of  the  government  officials — and, 
honest  reader,  J  have  known  of  it. 

By  various  roundabout  means,  I  have  recently  re- 
ceived letters  from  him.  His  last,  dated  in  April,  and 
brought   to  a  neutral  port  by  a  shipmaster  whom  he 


306  AMONG    THE   TINES. 

implicitly  trusts,  has  readied  me  siiice  the  previous 
chapters  were  written.  It  covera  six  pages  of  foolscap, 
and  is  written  in  defiance  of  all  grammatical  and  ortho- 
graphical principles ;  but  as  it  conveys  important  intelH- 
gence,  in  regard  to  some  of  the  persons  mentioned  in 
this  narrative,  I  will  transcribe  a  portion  of  it. 

It  gave  me  the  melancholy  tidings  of  the  death  of 

Colonel  J .     He  had  joined  the  Confederate  army, 

and  fell,  bravely  meeting  a  charge  of  the  Massachusetts 
troops,  at  Roanoke. 

On  receiving  the  news  of  his  friend's  death,  Andy 

rode  over  to  the  plantation,  and  found  Madam  P ■ 

plunged  in  the  deepest  grief.  While  he  was  there  & 
letter  arrived  from  Charleston,  with  intelligence  of  the 
danorerous  iUness  of  her  son.  This  second  blow  crushed 
her.  For  several  days  she  was  deUrious,  and  her  life 
despaired  of;  but  throughout  the  whole  the  noble  corn- 
cracker,  neglecting  every  thing,  remained  beside  her. 

When  she  retm-ned  to  herself,  and  had  in  a  measure 
recovered  her  strength,  she  learned  that  the  Colonel  had 
left  no  will ;  that  she  was  still  a  slave ;  and  soon  to  be 
sold,  with  the  rest  of  the  Colonel's  personal  property^ 
according  to  law. 

This  is  what  Andy  writes  about  the  afiair.  I  give  the 
letter  as  he  wrote  it,  merely  correcting  the  punctuation, 
and  enough  of  the  spelling,  to  make  it  intelligible. 

"  W'en  I  hard  thet  th'  Cunel  hadent  leff  no  wil,  I  was 
hard  put  what  ter  dew ;  but  arter  thinkin'  on  it  over  a 
spell,  I  knowed  shede  har  on  it  sumhow ;  so  I  'eluded  to 


coxcLusiox.  307 

tel  bar  miseff.     She  tuk  on  d d  hard  at  fust,  but  arter 

a  bit,  grew  more  cahn  Uke,  and  then  she  sed  it  war  God's 
■wil,  an'  she  wudent  komplane.  Ye  nows  I've  got  a  wife, 
but  wen  the  ma'am  sed  thet,  she  luk'd  so  like  an  angel, 

thet  d d  eff  I  cud  help  puttin'  my  anns  round  bar, 

an'  hugin'  on  bar,  till  she  a'moste  Screeched.  Wal,  I 
toled  bar,  Id  stau'  by  bar  eff  evrithing  went  ter  b — 1 — 

an  I  wil,  by . 

"I  made  up  mi  minde  to  onst,  what  ter  dew.  It  war 
darned  barde  work  tur  bee 'way  from  hum  jess  then,  but 
I  war  in  fur  it ;  soe  I  put  ter  Charleston,  ter  see  tb' 
Cunel's  'oman.  "Wal,  I  seed  bar,  an'  I  toled  bar  bow  tb' 
ma'am  felte,  an'  bow  mutch  shede  dun  at  makein'  tb' 
Cunel's  money — (she  made  nigh  tb'  hul  on  it,  'case  be 
war  alers  keerles,  an'  tuk  no  'count  uv  things ;  eff  tadent 
ben  fur  thet,  hede  made  a  wil,)  an'  I  axed  bar  ter  see 
thet  the  ma'am  had  free  papers  ter  onst.     An'  whot  der 

ye  'spoze  she  sed  ?     ISTutbin,  by 'cept  she  dident 

no  nuthin'  'bout  bisniss,  an'  leff  all  uv  sech  things  ter  bar 
loryer.  Wal,  then  I  went  ter  him — he  ar  one  on  them 
slick,  ily,  secesbun  boun's,  who'd  sell  thar  soles  fur  a 
kountterfit  dollar — an'  he  toled  me,  tb'  'ministratur  had- 
ent  sot  yit,  an'  he  cudent  dew  nuthin  til  he  bed.  Ses  I : 
'  ye  mean  tb'  'ooman's  got  ter  gwo  ter  tb'  hi'est  bider  ?' 
'  Yas,'  be  sed,  '  the  Cunel's  ^ot  dets,  an'  the've  got  ter 
bee  pade,  an'  tb'  persoonel  prop'ty  muste  bee  sold  ter 
dew  it.'  Then  I  sed,  'twud  bee  sum  time  fore  thet  war 
dun,  an'  the  'ooman's  'most  ded  an'  uv  no  use  now ; 
'  wbat'll  ye  hire  bar  tur  me  fiir.'    He  sed  a  hun'red  for 


308  AMONG   THE   PINES. 

sic"ks  months.  I  planked  down  the  money  tor  onst,  an' 
put  off. 

"  I  war  bilin'  over,  but  it  sumhow  cum  inter  my  hed 
thet  the  Gunnel's  'ooman  cudn't  bee  all  stun ;  so  I  gose 
thar  agin  ;  an'  I  toled  har  what  the  loryer  sed,  an'  made  a 
reg'Iar  stump-'peal  tew  har  bettar  natur.  I  axed  har 
eff  she'd  leff  the  'ooman  who'd  made  har  husban's  fortun, 
who  war  the  muther  ov  his  chil'ren,  who  fur  twenty 
yar,  hed  nussed  him  in  sickness,  an'  cheered  him  in 
healtf ;  ef  shede  let  thet  ''ooinan^  bee  auckyund  off  ter 
th'  hi'est  bider.  I  axed  al  thet,  an'  what  der  ye  think  she 
sed,  Why  jest  this.  '  /  doant  no  nuthin'  bout  it,  Mis- 
ter Jones.  Ye  rally  must  talke  ter  mi  loryer;  them 
maters  I  leaves  'tirely  ter  him.'  Then,  I  sed,  I  'spozed 
the  niggers  war  ter  bee  advertist.     '  O,  yas !'  she  sed, 

(an'  ye  see,  she  know'd  a  d d  site  'bout  thet)^  '  all 

on  'em  muss  be  solde,  'case,  ye  knows,  I  never  did  liiv 
the  kuntry, — 'sides  I  cud'ent  karry  on  the  plantashun, 
no  how.'  Then,  sed  I:  'the  Orlean's  traders  'HI  be 
thar — an'  she  wunt  sell  fur  but  one  use,  fur  she's  han- 
sum  yit ;  an'  ma'am,  ye  wunt  leff  a  'ooman  as  white  as 
you  is,  who  fur  twenty  yar,  hes  ben  a  tru  an'  fatheful 
wife  tar  yer  own  ded  husban,'  (I  shudn't  hev  put  thet  in, 

"  but  d d  ef  I  cud  help  it,)  ye  wunt  put  Uar  up  on  the 

block,  an'  hev  har  struck  down  ter  the  hi'est  bider,  ter 
bee  made  a  d d on?' 

"  Wal,  I  s'pose  she  hadent  forgot  thet,  fur  more'n 
twelve  yar,  the  Gunnel  hed  luv'd  t'other  'ooman,  an' 
onely  lihed  har ;   fur  w'en  I  sed  thet,  har  ize  snapped 


CONCLUSION.  309 

like  h — 1,  an'  she  screetched  eout  thet  she  dident  'low 
no  sech  wiirds  in  har  hous',  an'  ordurd  me  ter  leave. 
JMi'tey  sqeenaish  thet,  warn't  it  ?  bein'  as  shede  ben  fur 

so  mony  yar  the  Cunnel's ,  an'  th'  tuther  one  his 

raal  wife. 

"  Wal,  I  did  leav' ;  but  I  left  a  piece  of  mi  mind 
a-hind.  I  toled  har  I'de  buy  that  ar  'ooman  ef  she  cost 
all  I  war  wuth  and  I  had  ter  pawne  my  sole  ter  git  the 
money ;  an'  I  added,  jess  by  way  ov  sweet'nin'  the  pill, 
thet  I  ow'd  all  I  hed  ter  har  husband,  an'  dident  furget 
my  debts  ef  she  did  her'n^  an'  ef  his  own  wife  disgraced 
him,  I'd  be  d d  ef  Zwud. 

"  Wal,  I've  got  th'  ma'am  an'  har  boy  ter  hum,  an' 
my  'ooman  hes  tuk  ter  har  a  heep.  I  doant  no  w'en  the 
sale's  ter  cum  off,  but  ye  may  bet  hi'  on  my  beein'  thar ; 
an'  I'll  buy  har  ef  I  hev  ter  go  my  huU  pile  on  har,  an' 
borrer  th'  money  fur  ole  Pomp.  But  h^U  go  cheap, 
'case  the  Cunnel's  deth  nigh  dun  him  up.  It  clean 
killed  Ante  Lucey.  She  never  held  her  hed  up  arter  she 
heerd  '  Masser  Davy'  war  dead,  fiir  she  sot  har  vary  life 
on  him.  Don't  ye  fele  consarned  'bout  the  ma'am — I 
knows  ye  sot  hi'  on  har — Pll  buy  har^  shore.  Thet 
an'  deth  ar  th'  onely  things  thet  I  knows  on,  in  this 
wurld,  jess  now,  that  ar  saetin." 

Such  is  Andy's  letter.  Mis-spelled  and  profane  though 
it  be,  I  would  not  alter  a  word  or  a  syllable  of  it.  It 
deserves  to  be  written  in  characters  of  gold,  and  hung 
up  in  the  sky,  where  it  might  be  read  by  all  the  world. 
And  it  is  written  in  the  sky — in  the  great  record-book — 


310  AMONG  THE   PINES. 

and  it  will  be  read  when  you  and  I,  reader,  meet  the 
assembled  universe,  to  give  account  of  what  we  have 
done  and  written.  God  grant  that  our  record  may  show 
some  such  deed  as  that ! 


THS    EHS. 


NEW    BOOKS 
And   New    Editions    Recently   Issued  by 

OARLETON,   PUBLISHER, 

(Late  RUDD  &  CARLETOX,) 
413    BROADWAY,    NEW    YORK. 


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A  powerful  American   novel,  by  an   unknown  author,  $1.50- 

Tlie  Sutlierlands. 
The  new  novel  by  the  popular  author  of  ''  Rutledge,"  81.50 

Tlie  Habits  of  Good  Society. 
A  hand-book  for  ladies  and  gentlemen.   Best,  wittiest,  most  en- 
tertaining work  on  taste  and  good  manners  ever  printed,  81.50 

The  Cloister  and  the  H[earth. 
A  magnificent  new  historical  novel,  by  Charles  Reade,  author 
of  "Peg  Woffington,"  etc.,  cloth,  81.50,  papercovers,  81.25. 

Beulah. 
A  novel  of  remarkable  power,  by  Miss  A.  J.  Evans.      81.50. 


LIST  OF  BOOKS  PUBLISHED 


Artemus   Ward,  Mis  Book. 

The  racy  writings  of  this  humorous  author.  Illustrated,  $1.25. 
The  Old  Mercliants  of  New  York. 

Entertaining  reminiscences  of  ancient  mercantile  New  York 
City,  by  "  Walter  Barrett,  clerk."      First  Series.    $1.50  each. 

Like  and  Unlike. 
Novel  by  A.  S.  Roe,  author  of  "I've  been  thinking,"  &c.$l.5a 

Orpheus  C.  Kerr  Papers. 

Second  series  of  letters  by  this  comic  military  authority.  §1.25 

Marian  Grey, 

New  domestic  novel,  by  the  author  of  "  Lena  Rivers,"  etc.  $1.50. 

licna  Rivers. 
A  popular  American  novel,  by  Mrs.  Mary  J.  Holmes,  81.50. 

A  Book  about  Boclors. 
An  entertaining  volume  about  the  medical  profession.      $1.50. 

The  Adventures  of  Verdaut  Green. 
Humorous  novel  of  English  College  hfe.     Illustrated.     $1.25. 

The  Culprit  Fay. 
Joseph  Rodman  Drake's  faery  poem,  elegantly  printed,  50  cts. 

Doctor  Antonio. 
A  charming  love-tale  of  Italian  hfe,   by   G.  Ruffini,  81.50. 

liavinia. 
A  new  love-story,  by  the  author  of  "  Doctor  Antonio,"  $1.50. 

Dear  Experience. 
An  amusing  Parisian  novel,  by  author  "  Doctor  Antonio,"  $1 .00. 

The  L.ife  of  Alexander  Von  Humholdt. 
A  new  and  popular  biography  of  this  savant,  including  his 
travels  and  labors,  with  introduction  by  Bayard  Taylor,  $1.50. 

liOve  (li' Amour.) 
A  remarkable  volume,  from  the  French  of  Michelet.     $1.25. 

Tt^oman  (La  Femnie.) 
A  continuation  of  "  Love  (L' Amour),"  by  same  author,  $1.25 

The  Sea  (La  Mer.); 
New  work  by  Michelet,  author  **  Love"  and  "  Woman,"  8 1 .2 5 . 

The  Moral  History  of  \»^oman. 
Companion  Co  Michelet's  "  L' Amour,"  from  the  French,  $1.25 

Mother  Goose  for  Grown  Folks. 
Humorous  and  satirical  rhymes  for  grown  people,     75  cts. 

The  Kelly's  and  the  ©'Kelly's. 
Novel  by  Anthony  Trollope,  author  of  *'  Doctor  Thorne,"  S 1 . i;o 


m 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


THE  COLLECTION  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINIANA 

FROM  THE  LIBRARY  OF 

Willis  G.  Briggs 
1875-1954 


yr 


V" 


MjsgmMiaBBBmamm^^aBg^mmmmmiBfBeaBmi^m. 


FOR  USE  ONLY  IN 
THE  NORTH  CAROLINA  COLLECTION 


Form  No.  A-368,  Rev.  8/95 


